


Pleasant Is the Fairyland

by setepenre_set



Category: Megamind (2010)
Genre: F/M, Labyrinth AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-01 02:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8603722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setepenre_set/pseuds/setepenre_set
Summary: The Goblin King Megamind is running out of time–he must take a consort. His Minion is concerned when the King declares he will have no one but Roxanne Ritchi—who is far too clever and nosy and difficult to manage. But the King has a Plan, so Roxanne finds herself whirled away from her unfulfilling, ordinary life…to the Labyrinth, at the center of which is a secret, the King promises her, if she can but find it. A secret with the power to save a world…or to condemn it to Nothingness.





	1. Chapter 1

 

> _Pleasant is the fairyland, but, an eerie tale to tell_  
>  _At the end of every seven years, we pay a tithe to Hell_
> 
> _(And I am so fair and full of flesh I fear it will be myself)_
> 
> _-ballad of Tam Lin_

* * *

 

“Sir,” the Minion said, voice echoing in the great empty chamber, “we’re running out of time.”

The Goblin King, looking into the viewing pool, did not turn at his Minion’s voice.

“…Sir?” the Minion said after a long moment.

The Goblin King sighed, dragging black gloved fingertips in the water of the pool, sending ripples across the surface, blurring his own reflection.

With the sound of clanking machinery, the Minion moved to stand at his sovereign’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” he said, “but—maybe it won’t be so bad?”

The Goblin King gave a short unhappy laugh.

The Minion, in the glass headpiece of his mechanical suit, moved his fins in an agitated motion.

“—have you looked at any of the possibilities I found for you, Sir?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ve looked,” the Goblin King said quietly.

“And have you…made a choice, Sir?”

The Goblin King sighed again, and touched the water once more, setting up the ripples.

“Her,” he said, as the ripples settled into the reflection of a face that was not his own.

The Minion looked down at the face in the water: a woman with short brown hair—she was wearing a red coat, and she was looking at something over one shoulder, her eyebrows drawn together pensively in thought. Then she turned forward, lifting a hand to sweep her hair across her brow, mouth twisting a little unhappily. The woman’s eyes were blue and there was a small beauty mark beside her discontented mouth.

“…she wasn’t one of the possibilities, Sir,” the Minion said, “I don’t even know who she is!”

The Goblin King reached down to touch the reflected woman’s cheek with his fingertips.

For a moment, the woman seemed to lean into the touch, and then the ripples of the water disturbed the surface and she disappeared. The Goblin King reached up and ran his wet fingertips along the points of his high collar. Sharp black shadows settled beneath his cheekbones. He lifted his chin; the soft uncertain light cast by the waters of the viewing pool wavered and danced over his blue skin, over the full, inhuman shape of his head, and made his green eyes seem to shine from the inside with a phosphorescent glow.

“Her name is Roxanne Ritchi,” said the Goblin King, “and I will take no other consort but her.”

“…oh dear,” said the Minion, “well, what’s she like?”

“Clever,” said the Goblin King, looking more animated, the Minion thought, than he had in weeks, “very clever. And strong willed and curious and brave—” He smiled suddenly, his whole face lighting up. “Oh, she’s absolutely perfect, Minion!”

The Minion winced.

“Oh, dear,” he said again, heart sinking, “Are you, ah, sure that’s wise, Sir? I thought we agreed that someone—dreamy, quiet, easy to manage—”

The Goblin King laughed, a wild, joyful sound that echoed in the empty stone room and made the waters of the viewing pool shiver and ripple and seem to dance.

“Oh, don’t worry, Minion,” the Goblin King said, eyes dancing like the waters of the viewing pool, “I have a Plan.”

The Goblin King swept out of the room, long black cape snapping out behind him like a shadow given a semblance of life.

“Oh, dear,” said the Minion for the third time.

* * *

 

Roxanne found the book in a secondhand shop down an alleyway she had never noticed before, shoved between a dusty dictionary and an outdated almanac. The spine of the book was a deep cobalt blue, with a silver gilt lightning bolt that flashed at her out of the corner of her eye and made her turn and look more closely.

She pulled the book from the shelf and examined it. The cover was blue as well, with the words The Labyrinth written in ornate letters and more silver gilt across it.

When she opened the book, there was no author’s name on the inside page, only a sharp black M flanked by two more lightning bolts.

Roxanne flipped through the pages as if in a dream—beautiful jewel-tone illustrations; luscious, creamy white paper; crisp black ink—and the smell, not just the comforting scent of old books, but something else, something more—

(the smell of ozone, the sharp tang of lightning before a storm, the scent of rain)

There was some trouble at the counter. The bookstore owner—a man with wild blonde hair and disconcertingly green eyes, insisted that he didn’t have any book called The Labyrinth on file, told her that she must have brought the book in herself, and capped it all off by practically tossing her out of the shop.

Roxanne would have had some sharp words for him, had he not immediately locked the door behind her, flipped the sign in the window from open to closed, and then shut the curtains on all the windows.

So she shook her head incredulously and turned away and walked down the street towards her apartment building.

She looked back once, but only once; had she looked again, she might have seen the shop melt away into the air like mist blown on the wind.

But she did not look again.

Her shoes tapped on the sidewalk as she made her way home. Thunder rolled in the distance, and Roxanne bundled the book beneath her coat and held it close as the skies opened up.

It began to rain.

* * *

 

It began to rain and it went on raining through the night. Roxanne ate her dinner alone—a frozen dinner, inexpertly microwaved—and then she opened her computer and worked alone and in silence for an hour or so, fingers tapping on the keys as the rain hammered on her windowpanes.

Lightning flashed across the sky with a loud crack, startling her; Roxanne looked up and—for a moment—thought she saw, standing at the sliding glass door that led out onto her balcony, a man, or something like a man, with an oddly shaped head and green eyes that shone in the dark like a cat’s.

She gasped, but then she blinked, and—

Well, of course, it had only been a trick of the lightning, for there was no one there.

Roxanne ran her fingers through her hair and tried to laugh, but her mouth betrayed her, twisting discontentedly instead. Then she shook her head and closed her laptop and as she did so, her gaze fell on the blue book, sitting on her coffee table.

She sighed and picked the book up and opened it to the first page of the story.

 

> _Once upon a time_

(Roxanne read)

 

> _there was a very clever maiden._

Roxanne blinked in surprise. Well, this was promising.

Beautiful maidens are a dime-a-dozen in fairy stories; a clever one was something new.

She read on:

 

> _This maiden was clever and curious and strong-willed and brave but she was neither happy nor content. Her life seemed, on the surface, to be fulfilling enough, but she could not shake the sense that there was something, some vital thing, missing from it. Excitement, perhaps, or companionship, or a challenge, or love._
> 
> _Or perhaps it was something simpler—perhaps it was merely fun that was missing from this maiden’s life._
> 
> _Whatever it was, though, she felt its absence keenly, and so she could not be happy, not really happy, not ever. There was always that empty ache in her heart, in even her most joyful moments, that stole her smiles and made her laughter ring out hollow._
> 
> _And so the days passed, in a gray procession, for the unhappy, clever maiden._

On the page opposite the text, there was an illustration of the maiden, wearing an ornate red gown and standing at a window, her hand upraised in the act of sweeping her short brown hair across her brow, her eyebrows drawn together and her mouth twisted a little unhappily.

Her eyes were blue, and there was a small beauty mark beside her discontented mouth.

Had Roxanne been the sort of person who cared for illustrations as much as reading, she might have noticed how very much the drawing resembled her. But she was not that sort of person, so she merely glanced absently at the illustration, noticed that it was pretty, and turned the page, making a mental note to come back and look at it more closely later, after she finished the book.

Roxanne read on.

 

> _Well, one day, the maiden grew so tired of her dull and dreary life that she said, in idle frustration, “I wish something would happen.”_
> 
> _But nothing did._
> 
> _And then the maiden, more discontent than ever, said loudly, “I wish the wind would blow me away—right now!”_
> 
> _But the wind did not._
> 
> _And the maiden, very discontent indeed, cried out, “I wish the seas would rise up and wash me away—right now!”_
> 
> _But the seas did not._
> 
> _And the maiden, more discontent than she had ever been before, stamped her foot and shouted, “I wish the Goblin King would come and take me away—right now!”_
> 
> _And the Goblin King—did._

Lighting cracked across the sky, very near to Roxanne’s window. She jumped, dropping the book, which fell to the floor and slammed shut.

Roxanne pressed her hand to her chest and tried, as she had tried earlier, to laugh at herself, but found herself sighing instead. She leaned back on the couch cushions and looked around her empty apartment. Her momentary excitement at the lightning had faded now, and she felt, once more, dull and flat.

She looked down at the book on the floor. It had seemed an interesting story, but no doubt she would become bored with it in a page or two.

Roxanne found that she grew bored with things faster than ever, these days.

(What had the book said—something missing, some vital thing, and so she could not be happy, not really happy, not ever—)

Roxanne rubbed her hand over her face tiredly. She sighed.

“ _I_ wish the Goblin King would come and take _me_ away, right now,” she said quietly to herself.

And then she curled up on the couch and covered her face with her arm, and after a while, she fell asleep.

* * *

 

When she woke up, she was lying on the ground outside the Labyrinth, and the Goblin King was there.

* * *

 

“Hello,” said the Goblin King, perched on a boulder in an oddly birdlike way.

Roxanne knew who he was right away and without asking, the way one recognizes people in dreams. He was odd looking, but not ugly: his skin was as blue as a summer’s sky and his eyes were wide and bright and green, and he was smiling at her, a wide, sharp smile, too wide and too sharp to be human.

The Goblin King was dressed all in black, with a high, wicked-looking collar, and metal spikes on his shoulders, and a long black cape pooled around him like a shadow.

He had no hair on his head, though he had rather more than his fair share of head—it was large and round and very blue.

Roxanne found that she wanted to put her hand on it, but refrained from doing so. She might have been kidnapped by a mythical creature and deposited in an unknown location, but that was no reason to lose her self-possession.

“Hello,” she said, sitting up.

The Goblin King tilted his head, looking more birdlike than ever.

“You’re not screaming,” he remarked, “Why aren’t you screaming?”

“Why would I be screaming?” she asked, standing up and brushing herself off.

(There were little bits of grass on her clothes)

The Goblin King stood as well and looked down at her from atop the boulder.

“Isn’t waking up to find a grinning, inhuman thing staring at you usually cause for screaming?” he asked.

“I’m fairly certain you’re a person, not a thing,” Roxanne said.

The Goblin King looked rather surprised at this.

“I mean, you are wearing clothes,” she pointed out. “It’s really only people that do that.”

“Scarecrows,” the Goblin King said.

“Yeah, okay; people and scarecrows!” Roxanne said, rolling her eyes, “and sometimes small dogs! But you’re talking, too, and is just people that talk. Why are you staring at me like that?”

The Goblin King was staring at her with an uncertain expression, his fingers clutching at the edge of his cape.

“I—I thought—I really thought you’d scream…” he said, sounding a bit lost.

“Did you want me to scream?” Roxanne asked, arching her eyebrows incredulously.

The Goblin King’s features sharpened into an expression of interest.

“If I said yes, would you do it?” he asked her.

“No,” Roxanne said.

The Goblin King laughed.

“Oh, you’re fun!” he said, stepping down from the boulder to stand in front of her. “I didn’t think you’d be fun!”

Roxanne arched her eyebrows again.

“I think I feel insulted,” she said.

The Goblin King’s eyes went wide, his eyebrows drawing together. He drew back slightly from her.

“—was that insulting?” he asked. “I—I didn’t mean it to be.”

Roxanne narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. He gazed back at her, still with that expression of worry—he didn’t appear to be mocking her.

(he was the same height as she was, Roxanne noticed. she’d thought he was taller, when he’d been standing on the boulder, but it had been his posture and his tall collar that deceived her)

“You said you didn’t think I would be fun,” she said, her tone more gentle than she meant it to be, “so the implication there is that you thought I would be boring. Which is insulting.”

“Oh!” The Goblin King’s eyes went wide again; he shook his head emphatically. “Oh, no, not boring! Never boring! Angry. I thought you’d be angry. And frightened. Mostly angry. Are you angry?”

Against her better judgement, Roxanne laughed.

“No,” she said, “I was a little angry when I thought you’d called me boring, but I’m not angry now that I know you didn’t.”

The Goblin King let out a breath, shoulders falling.

“Oh, that’s a relief to hear!” he said.

He smiled at her.

“Are you going to come into the Labyrinth now?” he asked invitingly.

Roxanne looked over her shoulder at the line of hedge that stood ten-foot high, stretching as far as she could see in either direction.

“That—doesn’t look likely,” she said. “Anyway, I should probably be waking up soon.”

“Do you think this is a dream?” the Goblin King asked.

Roxanne laughed.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, “I’m pretty sure it’s a dream.”

“Oh,” the Goblin King said quietly.

Roxanne looked sidelong at him.

“What?” she asked.

“That’s why you’re not screaming,” he said.

Roxanne blinked at his tone.

“I thought you wanted me to scream,” she said.

“I didn’t say that,” the Goblin King said. “Anyway, this isn’t a dream. And I really think you ought to come into the labyrinth.”

Roxanne gave him an unimpressed look.

“And why would I want to go wandering around in the labyrinth?” she asked.

“To find what’s at the center,” he said.

Roxanne glanced at the line of hedges again, speculatively, this time.

“—what’s at the center?” she asked.

The Goblin King bit his lip and smiled.

“It’s a secret,” he said. “You have to get to the center to find out what it is.”

Roxanne growled in irritation. The Goblin King looked at her with an innocent expression that wasn’t fooling anybody.

“Don’t you want to know the secret, Miss Ritchi?” he asked.

“You could just tell me,” she said.

“No,” he said, “I couldn’t. It’s against the rules. Are you coming into the labyrinth yet?”

“You seem awfully certain I’m going to,” Roxanne said with poisoned politeness, “but I’m afraid all I want to do is get out of this dream and go home. So sorry to disappoint you.”

She’d thought to make him angry, but the Goblin King just shrugged.

“If you want to get out,” he said, “then you have to come in.”

“But why would I go in if I want to get out?” asked Roxanne, exasperated.

“Do you?” said the Goblin King, tilting his head curiously.

“Do I what?” Roxanne asked.

“Want to get out?”

“Of course I want to get out!” she said.

The Goblin King smiled, all sharp edges and mischief, green eyes sparkling like broken pieces of glass.

“Liar,” he said.

“I am not—!”

“Yes, you are,” he murmured, circling her, leaning close to whisper in her ear but never touching her, “you, Miss Ritchi, are a terribly nosey person. And you want to discover the secret; I know you do. So come into the labyrinth and find it, why don’t you?”

He came to a stop in front of her and smirked at Roxanne while she glared at him.

Finally she threw her hands up in frustration.

“Fine!” she said. “I’ll go into your stupid labyrinth, are you happy now?”

“Extremely!” said the Goblin King. “Now all you have to do to get inside is find the secret entrance! I’m afraid it’s very well hidden; even someone as clever as you should have some trouble—”

“Found it,” Roxanne said.

The Goblin King stopped, mouth open, and gaped at her.

“There’s a doormat over there that says ‘sekrit entrance’,” Roxanne said sweetly, and led the way over to it.

“Minion!” the Goblin King growled darkly, and huffily followed Roxanne to the doormat—which did, indeed, say ‘sekrit entrance’—and then through the secret entrance itself and into the labyrinth.


	2. Chapter 2

Roxanne walked down the path between the tall green hedges, the Goblin King grumbling behind her as he followed, until she reached a fork in the path. She stopped then, and he came to a stop beside her. She glanced sidelong at him.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to give me a hint about which way would be the better choice,” she said.

He blinked at her, surprise and confusion in his face, and did not answer.

“Didn’t think so,” she sighed.

Roxanne looked again at the two paths; they appeared completely identical.

“Right,” she said, and walked down the right-hand path.

 

The Goblin King trailed behind Roxanne, frowning. He had given her a hint; he’d given her the book! And the book had clearly stated that she should have turned left!

Perhaps she didn’t trust the book? She didn’t know it was from him, but possibly she thought it was a trick, anyway, suspected it was meant to deceive her?

That would be reasonable; he should have taken that possibility into account…

He’d had to bite his tongue against a protest when she’d turned right; she’d asked him for a hint, but of course, of course he couldn’t offer her aid. Not here.

He glanced automatically at the shadows, stomach twisting—had they deepened? Were they longer, darker, than they should be?

A few paces ahead of him, Roxanne turned right again.

No. No, the shadows were the same, he reassured himself. The shadows were the same.

Again, Roxanne turned right.

The Goblin King suppressed the urge to rub his temples. He’d been planning for Roxanne to turn left; things would have to be rearranged, now, and he could already feel a headache coming on.

Only there was no way to predict which way Roxanne was going to turn, so how was he going to be able to—

Roxanne turned right once more.

“Oh!” he said, realization dawning.

Roxanne looked at him curiously, and he smiled at her in relief, moving swiftly to catch up with her.

“You’re using the right-hand rule!” he said. “Oh, I knew you were clever!”

She raised her eyebrows at him, her lips twitching in a way that seemed involuntary.

“You seem awfully pleased,” she said. “Aren’t you mad that I’m going to solve your labyrinth so easily?”

The right-hand rule; he could work with the right-hand rule—yes, he knew how to deal with this, now.

Roxanne, looking very satisfied with herself, took another right turn, and the Goblin King fell behind again and trailed after her once more, his mind furiously at work.

—something to equal out the way the secret entrance had been labeled, yes, he’d have to do that, and then—

  
Roxanne turned right yet again and then stopped.

The path between the hedges had opened up into a sort of courtyard, paved with stone, filled with stone pillars, and surrounded by stone walls.

She looked at the walls speculatively, wondering if she could scale one and take a look over the rest of the maze, so that she might see where she was going. Regretfully, she decided that it would be impossible. The cracks between the stone were much too small to offer a foot or hand hold.

There were two arches on the far wall of the courtyard, both leading into stone-paved corridors. Roxanne set out towards the right-hand archway—

—and then she saw, out of the corner of her eyes, an inconspicuous door, hidden behind one of the pillars.

A door that said EXIT.

Could it—surely it couldn’t be as simple as that—surely this must be a trick—

The secret entrance had been marked, Roxanne remembered, and that hadn’t been a trick; the Goblin King had been quite annoyed about that.

Was it really possible that he could have made such a mistake twice over?

(that was the thing about mistakes, though; wasn’t it—once you made one, you were prone to making it again and again and—)

Roxanne darted suddenly to the side, wanting to get out of the Goblin King’s reach. She flung open the door, went to step forward and—

She found herself teetering precariously on the edge because there wasn’t any floor beyond the doorway, just a sudden drop into a deep pit filled with dark water and—

Roxanne gave a little scream, arms windmilling wildly, and then she caught the door and used it to yank herself backwards, stumbling back into the courtyard and slamming the door shut once more.

“Don’t you like alligators?” said the Goblin King, his voice close to her ear.

She whirled on him furiously.

“You—!”

“Now, now, hold on!” said the Goblin King, moving back a few paces, laughter in his voice as he held his hands up in mock surrender.

“You—”

“I didn’t make you open the door, did I?” he said, smiling ingratiatingly.

“You tricked me—”

“You let yourself be tricked,” he said. “Your choices here are your own, Miss Ritchi. But I’m curious to know what it was about Goblin King that made you think safe.”

“I could have been killed!”

“Have you admitted, then,” said the Goblin King softly, his too-green eyes fixed on her face, “that this isn’t a dream?”

“I—”

(The alligators had leaped at her, their jaws snapping, all teeth and hunger—and she’d been able to smell the water, to feel the spray hitting her face—surely no dream could be that detailed)—

“…I don’t know,” she said.

The Goblin King nodded.

For the first time, it occurred to Roxanne that perhaps she should be afraid of him—this strange man with his glittering eyes and his inhuman shape and his smiles that didn’t curve quite right, that showed too many teeth.

(That it was a bit odd, the way she wasn’t afraid of him.)

“You told me there was a secret at the center of the labyrinth,” Roxanne said slowly.

“Yes, that is correct,” the Goblin King said.

“How do I know you’re not lying, though?” Roxanne asked. “How can I trust anything you say?”

“Oh, I can’t lie to you,” said the Goblin King. “No member of the fae can lie. Trick you and deceive you and twist their words to confuse, oh yes. But never lie outright.”

“Hmm,” Roxanne said, watching his face. “How do I know you’re not lying about that?”

She’d expected him to be offended at the question, but the Goblin King just blinked at her, head tilting thoughtfully.

“I—I suppose you don’t, really,” he said. “Huh. I—never thought about it like that, before. But—but surely you’ve heard that rule, Miss Ritchi! Surely you’ve read or heard stories about us and—”

“Yes,” Roxanne said, “Yes, I’ve heard that before, certainly. But, then—that’s just the sort of rumor I’d expect you to spread if you were prone to lying.”

The Goblin King stared at her for half a moment, and then burst into laughter—bright, loud laughter, joyous laughter.

(the kind of laugh to fall in love with)

“Oh, you are fun!” he said, “I suppose it all comes down to your choice, then, doesn’t it? Do you choose to believe me? Or do you not?”

Roxanne looked at him, eyes narrowed. He hadn’t tried to save her from the alligator door, but—he hadn’t pushed her through, either. And really, had he simply wanted to kill her, he might have done that several hours ago.

No, he didn’t want her dead, but he did want something from her, certainly. Was he toying with her, like a cat with its prey? Were her struggles entertaining?

He’d seemed so pleased, though, when he realized that she was using the right hand rule— _when in a maze, take only right turns and you are guaranteed to find the exit eventually._ Yes, he had seemed pleased at that, and she didn’t see why that should be so, if he wished to watch her fail.

No. No, it was something else he wanted.

Something that he wanted very much indeed, as he’d gone to all of the trouble of bringing her to this place and convincing her to enter the labyrinth.

(a secret, he’d said, at the center of the labyrinth. and he’d said that he couldn’t tell her, because of the rules.)

“…you want me to solve the labyrinth,” she said slowly.

The Goblin King gave a start of surprise, his eyes going wide, and then they darted swiftly from side to side, as though checking they were alone, as though he were—

as though he were—

—afraid. Of something.

(something in the labyrinth with them?)

The Goblin King looked at her again, biting his bottom lip, and he didn’t look anything like frightening now.

He nodded, quick and sharp.

All right. So he wanted her to solve the labyrinth.

“Can you help me solve it?” Roxanne asked.

The Goblin King, looking a bit pale, shook his head.

“This—this thing at the center of the labyrinth,” Roxanne said, “you need me to get it for some reason, don’t you? You need my help.”

The Goblin King raised his head and looked at her again.

“Yes,” he whispered, nearly silently.

“What kind of rules are we talking, then?” Roxanne asks. “The rules that won’t let you help me? Are we talking like—human laws, where it’s not the rules you need to worry about as much as the people enforcing them? Or more like physical laws of nature, like gravity and things like that?”

The Goblin King took a sharp breath, eyes fixed on her face.

He’d drawn closer to her, while she wasn’t paying attention, Roxanne realized now; they were very close. She must have been mesmerized by the green of his eyes, because for a moment, it seemed that there were shadows all around them—and that the shadows were—

(moving)

But that was ridiculous, of course; the sun was bright overhead, shining down into the courtyard among the pillars, and when Roxanne blinked, the shadows were in their proper places, to lie like tame dogs at the corners of the courtyard.

Still, that momentary trick of her vision had left her with a nasty feeling in her chest: a sort of sticky tightness around her heart, and Roxanne reached out without thinking for the Goblin King’s hand and laced their fingers together.

A jolt went through him at the contact; she felt it, and then his fingers tightened around hers.

“You ask,” he said softly, “the most dangerous questions, Miss Ritchi. There are—certain things—that it is best not to speak aloud, in this place.”

“You can’t even tell me the rules?” Roxanne asked. “But that’s not fair!”

“You’ve read the stories, Miss Ritchi,” the Goblin King said. “Surely you know that magic isn’t fair.”

“But how am I supposed to win the game if I don’t know the rules?”

The Goblin King looked at her, an expression of sorrow and pity in his glass-green eyes.

“Oh, no, Miss Ritchi,” he said, “no—you’re not meant to win.”

Invisible fingers drew themselves up Roxanne’s spine.

“The odds are stacked against you,” the Goblin King told her, watching her face, “you’re almost certain to lose. And the consequences for you, should you lose, will be dire. I—I would not blame you, Miss Ritchi, if you should refuse to play.”

He pressed his lips together, mouth flattening into a hard line.

“And so—” he said.

The Goblin King reached up with his free hand and sketched something in the air with his fingers, the motions sharp and precise.

A door appeared, in the brick wall beyond his hand. Except—appeared was not exactly the correct word. There was no sudden burst of light or smoke or sound. It didn’t pop into existence, or melt into being. It was simply—there. As though it had been all along, as though Roxanne’s eyes had simply missed it somehow, and the Goblin King had merely called it to her attention.

“—one last chance to turn back, Miss Ritchi,” said the Goblin King softly, when Roxanne met his eyes once more. “There’s the way out, back to home and safety for you: no tricks, no penalties. As I said, I will not blame you.”

Roxanne hesitated a moment, looking at the door, and then back at him.

He was paler than he had been, she thought, with lines of strain around his mouth and eyes.

The Goblin King let go of her hand and stepped away, though, and he smiled as he swept into a bow, indicating the door. Roxanne might have read the bow and the smile as mocking, had she not seen the way his hands shook, just slightly.

She looked at the door. She looked over at the Goblin King, who straightened up from his bow, still smiling at her, careless and reckless and sharp-edged.

And Roxane turned away from the door and walked towards him again, reaching out to place her fingertips lightly on his sleeve.

Emotions flicked in his expression, too fast to be human: shock, hope, fear, disbelief. He took a swift breath.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Roxanne tightened her fingers on his arm, heart beating hard.

“Helping you,” she said.

(the alligators and the shadows, and oh, oh, but this wasn’t a dream, was it, and she was afraid—)

She swallowed hard.

“—why?” asked the Goblin King in a whisper.

“You said you needed my help,” Roxanne said.

And she stepped forward, leading him across the courtyard, and through the archway on the right-hand side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the comments and kudos; I hope you enjoyed the new chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

As they walked down the pathway (a right-hand turn, and then another) Roxanne’s hand slid down the Goblin Kin’s arm and her hand slipped into his, their fingers lacing together.

It was—it was a terribly new feeling, for the Goblin King. Oh, he’d known, of course, that people held hands, that people touched, but the knowing and the feeling, it turned out, were two entirely different things. He was terribly conscious of the pressure of her grip, the pressure of his own, very focused on maintaining it—important not to squeeze too tight or hold too loosely—she might let go if he did either of those two things and he was, oddly enough, definitely, entirely certain that he did not want her to let go. In spite of the way that holding her hand took up so much of his attention—attention that he should probably be focusing on his labyrinth, but—oh, the sensation of her hand in his was fascinating.

It was fortunate that he was wearing gloves; if both of their hands had been bare, he probably would have walked into a wall in his distraction.

(he nearly did it anyway, just imagining the texture of her skin)

“Where is everyone?” Roxanne’s voice broke the silence of the labyrinth.

He looked over at her; she was already looking at him, and his confusion must have showed in his expression, because she added—

“I mean, the labyrinth seems a bit—empty.”

The Goblin King tilted his head at her.

“Things—aren’t always what they seem,” he said carefully, “the labyrinth is hardly empty.”

(that was a good way to put it, wasn’t it? A subtle warning that there were certainly other things in the labyrinth, but vague enough that there shouldn’t be any problems)

(he glanced reflexively at the shadows anyway)

“So there are other goblins, then?” Roxanne said, tugging him through a low doorway by their joined hands. “Other people like you?”

“—yes and no,” the Goblin King said stiffly.

Roxanne glanced over her shoulder at him.

“There are others in the labyrinth, yes,” he said, “but there’s—no one like me.”

A frown appeared between her eyebrows.

“Why not?” she asked.

(the shadows, the devouring darkness, the nothingness that swallowed everything—)  
(the terrible screaming, and then the even more terrible silence that followed)

“They—died,” he said, “the world…the world died.”

Roxanne took a sharp breath, her fingers tightening in his.

“Oh—“ she said, “oh, I’m—I’m so sorry.”

He frowned at her in surprise and not a little confusion.

“Sorry that it happened, or sorry for asking?”

She winced, as though he’d said something hurtful.

(had he? he hadn’t meant to—)

“Both,” she said, “I—I’m so very sorry that happened, and I—I shouldn’t have asked—I’m too nosy, I do know that; you said I ask dangerous questions—“

“No, no!” he said quickly, “you—“

(was that the hurtful thing she’d heard; did she think he was angry because she’d asked?)

(“too nosy” she’d said, but he wanted that, needed that curiosity of hers, if this plan was going to work.)

“—the Fisher King!” the Goblin King blurted out.

Roxanne blinked, probably at the sudden unexpected change of subject.

“The…fisher king?” she repeated slowly.

The Goblin King nodded vigorously.

“You know what I’m talking about, yes, Miss Ritchi?” he asked, voice urgent, “You know the story?”

“…yes,” she said, still sounding confused, “the—Fisher King was wounded and couldn’t be healed until…until the hero asked the right question.”

He saw the light of understanding come into her eyes and a rush of relief went through him—oh, she was clever; he’d chosen well when he’d chosen her. If anyone could do this, it was her.

* * *

“I see,” Roxanne said slowly.

The right question; she had to ask the right question.

(she had plenty of questions, but how was she supposed to know which was the right one?)

“You said that the world died,” she said, and the Goblin King took a sharp breath, his eyes darting away from hers for a moment before he met her gaze once more and gave a tiny nod.

“How did you bring the world back to life, then?” she asked. “I mean—it doesn’t look dead to me.”

“Oh! Oh, no, the world that died wasn’t—” the Goblin King gestured with his free hand, a motion of negation, “—this is another world. A—a shadow world, I suppose, a—I’m not entirely certain how to explain this…”

“Like parallel dimensions, you mean?”

“Not—my world, the world that died, that was a parallel one, yes,” the Goblin King said. “This one, though, is more…it’s smaller, less certain. Perpendicular, almost, instead of parallel, I suppose you could say. A corner, a place that lost things get swept into.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Roxanne asked.

“Yes,” the Goblin King nodded. “There are—there are many parallel universes, you understand, and they run alongside one another. And there are doorways between the worlds, places and times that you can cross over. When my world—I floated towards one of the doorways, a doorway to your world, actually, I flew towards it in a pod.”

“A pod? You mean—like a spaceship or something?” Roxanne said.

The Goblin King blinked at her, then gave a startled laugh.

“You—could think of it like that, yes, although it was…probably closer to a seed pod? Anyway, I floated towards the doorway between the worlds. I nearly made it, too, but I was knocked off-course by another pod, and I spun away into this place, instead.”

“Alone?”

“No, Minion was with me,” he said.

“Who is Minion?”

“Minion is—” the Goblin King stopped, frowning. “I don’t think there’s a word for it, in your language. Friend-family person? Helping friend-family person? The translation is—” he waved a hand, a sharp, frustrated motion, “—unsatisfactory. Anyway, he’s back at the palace, now. You’ll meet him, if we make it there.”

“And it’s only the two of you, here?” Roxanne asked. “That sounds a bit—lonely.”

“It was the two of us only, at first,” said the Goblin King. “But I made others. Would you like to meet them?”

Roxanne opened her mouth to say yes, and then closed it, thinking quickly, remembering the door with the alligators.

“Would meeting them be dangerous?” she asked, watching his expression.

She’d worried that asking the Goblin King that might affront him, but he gave her a quick look of approval instead.

“Clever,” he said. “No, it would not be dangerous.”

“Then yes.”

The Goblin King’s face lit up in a smile.

“Stop a moment, then,” he said, and Roxanne did, feeling relieved at the rest.

She leaned against the wall of the labyrinth, the stones cool to the touch, in spite of the heat of the sun.

The Goblin King gave a sharp whistle, clear and carrying.

For a long moment, nothing happened, and then Roxanne heard another sound in the distance, coming closer, an odd sort of mechanical barking noise.

A group of odd—things—flew over the far wall and descended, still making that strange sound, to hover around the Goblin King.

“Oh,” Roxanne said in surprise.

The things that the Goblin King had called were made of metal and glass and electricity—clear domes with glowing blue current crackling inside, and sharp metal jaws and spikes and arms like the tendrils of jellyfish, moving gently beneath their bodies as they flew slowly around the Goblin King.

“They’re beautiful,” Roxanne said, and the Goblin King smiled at her as though she’d given him an incredibly wonderful gift.

She straightened up from the wall and took a few steps towards him, and the mechanical creatures widened their circle, flying around both of them, now.

The Goblin King held out a hand, palm down, and one of the creatures flew beneath it, so that his hand ran over the curve of its glass dome.

“My goblins!” he said, looking at them affectionately. “My wicked little will-o-the-wisps! Did you miss me? You did, didn’t you! Yes, you did!”

The mechanical goblins barked as if in affirmation, and Roxanne laughed. The Goblin King grinned at her.

“Say hello to our guest,” he said, gesturing at her, and the mechanical goblins flew around her, still barking excitedly, reaching out to stroke her hair and tap her shoulders with their long metal tendrils.

Roxanne laughed again in wonder, holding out her hands to let them touch her fingers and nudge beneath her palms.

(The Goblin King, watching her, caught his breath. He stood very still, watching the electricity of his creations dance in her eyes and hair as she laughed and reached out towards them.)

* * *

It was difficult to judge the passage of time in the labyrinth. The sun did not move from its place directly overhead. It stayed there as Roxanne played with the Goblin King’s mechanical will-o-the-wisps, and it stayed there after he sent them on their way with an affectionate shooing, and it stayed there as the two of them walked and walked and walked through the labyrinth, right turn after right turn after right turn.

After some time, Roxanne and the Goblin King came to another courtyard filled with stone archways.

There were three arches, and Roxanne thought that she must have been walking longer than she’d assumed, because when she looked at the archways, they seemed to shift and waver, as though they were—

“They _are_ moving,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

The Goblin King made a noise of assent, and Roxanne glanced over at him. Perhaps he was feeling the effects of their long walk as well, because his eyes looked glassy, their gaze distant.

Roxanne turned a look of distaste on the archways. It was really quite disconcerting, the way they wouldn’t stay still. She could see through each of them: one led into a darkened tunnel, the other into a meadow of flowers. The third opened up into another courtyard, this one with what looked like fountains and a tree, although it was difficult to say for sure, because of the way the doorways kept moving around, flickering and shifting and switching places.

She edged closer to the archways, in the hopes that they might slow down, but they did not.

Behind her, the Goblin King make a gulping kind of sound; when she glanced back at him, he seemed a little pale, his eyes still glazed.

She looked back at the shifting doorways.

“Right,” she said, voice loud and firm, “that’s enough of that, thank you.”

And she smacked her hand sharply down on the wall between two of the doors.

The Gobin King gasped behind her, and the archways went still and firmed up around the edges. Roxanne gave them a stern look and turned back to the Goblin King. He was leaning against the wall, now, holding himself up with one hand, the palm of his other hand pressed to his cheek.

She looked back at the doorways, and was pleased to note that they’d stayed where they were while her back was turned.

The meadow door on the left hand side looked the most appealing of the choices; after so long walking between the high stone walls of the labyrinth, Roxanne was feeling more than a little claustrophobic, as well as tired. An open field would be a welcome change.

And the right-hand door led into the darkened tunnel, and if she was going to keep to her plan to solve the labyrinth, she ought, of course, to go that way.

But the courtyard that the center doorway led to did, in fact, she saw now, have a fountain in it, water flowing from the top basin to the lower one, and the Goblin King looked ill and exhausted and sorely in need of a drink.

She turned from the doors and went to his side, draping his arm over her shoulder and wrapping her arm around his waist.

He was lighter than she expected, as though his bones might be hollow, or perhaps it was just that he was so very thin.

“Mm?” the Goblin King said, his eyes unfocused, swaying against her.

“Come on,” Roxanne said gently, “this way.”

She led him through the center doorway and settled him on the ground next to the fountain. He let her do it, still staring a bit blankly. Perhaps he was overheated? All those layers of black clothing under the sun, and the wide, bare shape of his head left unprotected—

After a moment of fumbling, Roxanne located the clasp of his cape, and flicked it open. She pushed the cape off of him, spikes and all, then reached for the buckles of his gloves. Those she undid as well, and pulled the gloves from his hands.

His fingers were long and thin and blue, his wrists narrow, and his neck, without the high collar, looked even longer and more delicately graceful.

He tipped his face up and looked at her, frowning, trying to focus his eyes on her face and Roxanne realized with a jolt that she’d been staring at him.

She flushed and hastily straightened up, leaning over the edge of the fountain to catch some of the cool flowing water in her cupped hands, then moving to let it fall over the Goblin King’s head.

He made a soft sound at the touch of the water, so she did it a few more times, hoping it would help to make him cooler.

Then she knelt again in front of him and held the water in her hands out to him.

He just stared at her hands, not moving to drink, until she brought her hands to his lips. He seemed to understand then, and he bent his head.

She did that three times, and he seemed to come back to himself a bit with every mouthful of water, and at the end of the third time, when the water was gone, he looked up at her and at last his eyes focused on her face.

“What’s happening?” he asked, voice thready.

“I’m trying to keep you from having a heat stroke,” Roxanne said briskly, hiding her relief that he seemed coherent again. “Have you ever thought about wearing less clothing?”

He looked up at her, color coming back into his face, a pink tinge on his cheekbones and the edges of his ears.

“Ah—n-no?” he said.

Roxanne rolled her eyes and looked longingly at the fountain. She’d been so worried about him, she was only just noticing how very thirsty she was, too.

“If I drink this water, am I going to be stuck here forever?” she asked. “There’s some rule about eating and drinking in fairyland, right?”

The Goblin King put a hand to his head and winced like it ached.

“Usually?” he said, “But in light of the fact that this is a—ah—long term—labyrinth—challenge…thing, I think we can consider that particular rule waived…”

“Is it going to do something weird to me?” Roxanne asked, still suspicious in spite of her thirst.

The Goblin King gingerly shook his head.

Roxanne needed no further assurances.

* * *

The Goblin King watched Roxanne drink. His head was pounding, now; too much magic, used too quickly.

They were in the courtyard; why were they in the courtyard? The book had been very explicit that she should take the tunnel doorway, and he’d even made it easy on her, had made that the right-hand door when the shifting stopped!

The shadows were angry about that; he could feel it; could see them stirring restlessly at the edges of the courtyard, could see them starting to creep towards the two of them. He pushed them back with his mind, pain lancing through his temples, and they subsided resentfully.

And it had all been for nothing; she’d chosen the courtyard door!

“Why are we here?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes, hoping that would ease the pain a little.

Roxanne looked at him from where she’d been bent over the edge of the fountain, drinking.

There was water on her face, droplets dancing in the sunlight, and as he watched, she caught up another handful of water and dragged it through her hair, her hand sliding over her head, then down the back of her neck.

He looked away quickly, didn’t glance her again until she’d straightened up and was shaking the water from her hands.

“You needed water,” she said, shrugging. “I thought we could just go back, afterwards, but—”

She waved a hand in the direction they’d come from; he didn’t even have to look to know that the doorway had sealed itself, the arch closing up into a stone wall.

And she should have known that would happen! She should have known that she couldn’t go back; the book had been very clear about that; he’d made sure—

“—you didn’t read it,” he said, horror and understanding dawning together.

“…didn’t read what?” Roxanne asked.

The Goblin King resisted the urge to indulge in what he couldn’t help but feel would be a totally reasonable bout of hysterics.

“The book,” he said, panicked laughter at the edges of the words in spite of his efforts to repress it, “you didn’t read the book.”

Roxanne tilted her head.

“The Labyrinth book?” she asked. “I read some of it. Why?”

(She hadn’t read the book. She _hadn’t read_ the _book_. He’d thrown nearly all of his remaining power into that book, into projecting himself hard enough into her world so that he could make sure she got it, into the glamour needed to interact with her without frightening her with his actual appearance and she _hadn’t. read. the book._ )

"Oh," he said, with a horrible, joyless giggle, "nothing; nothing; never mind"

_She hadn’t read the book._

(They were going to _die_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...to be continued.


	4. Chapter 4

“Oh, _wow_ ,” Roxanne said, eyes wide as she moved towards the tree in the center of the courtyard.

She hadn’t really noticed it before; she’d been preoccupied with the Goblin King, and then with the fountain, but now that he seemed to have recovered from his near-swoon, and she’d quenched her thirst, she was able to see how really extraordinary the tree was.

It stood in a low circular basin, upraised a few inches from the paving stones of the courtyard. The bark of the was a smooth, deep brown, and it’s branches—

The branches seemed to be from a number of different trees; the boughs held blossoms of a different color—a deep rose color in one place, a soft delicate pink in another, lavender and violet and bright heliotrope purple. And it seemed to be flowering and fruiting at the same time; each of the boughs not covered in flowers was laden with a different kind of fruit: ripe blushing peaches and nectarines, yellow and bright red and near-black cherries, plums in every possible shade, and some fruits that Roxanne didn’t even recognize.

The Goblin King, carefully pulling himself to his feet, one hand on the edge of the fountain for balance, looked up at Roxanne, then followed her gaze to the tree.

As he watched her, Roxanne moved towards it, and then around it, her expression filled with wonder. She reached up her hand to a bough and plucked a peach.

Bringing it to her face, she inhaled deeply, eyes closed.

She opened her eyes to glance over at him.

“The rule is waived for food, too?” she asked, rolling the peach in her hands.

The Goblin King nodded. Roxanne grinned at him and took a bite from the peach.

 

Her eyelashes fluttered as she did it, and she made a noise of surprise.

“—it doesn’t taste like a peach,” she said, looking over at him again.

“Doesn’t it?” he asked vaguely.

Not terribly surprising. He’d never tasted a real peach; he’d been guessing at the flavor when he made these, basing it on what they looked they might taste like; glimpses of peaches he’d caught in the viewing pool, reflections from another world.

He lifted himself to sit on the edge of the fountain.

“No, it’s—here, try it,” Roxanne said, stepping towards him, holding out the peach.

The Goblin King blinked, and looked down at her hand. He could see the marks left by her teeth, in the fruit, the shape of her mouth left as an indentation in the flesh. A drop of juice slid from the peach and down her hand, over the skin of her wrist.

A dizzying wave of heat and confusion swept through him, leaving him feeling flushed and flustered and foolish in its wake.

“Ah—that’s very kind, but—”

Roxanne rolled her eyes and took one of his hands in her own free hand. And the sensation of that, without his gloves, was even more overwhelming than he’d expected; he found himself unable to offer any resistance when she pressed the peach into his palm. She took his other hand and curled it around the peach, too, her own hands over his, holding them in place. The Goblin King stared at the sight of it: the peach, his hands, then hers. She stroked her thumb ever so slightly over the thin skin of his wrist and his pulse quickened beneath her touch.

He looked up at her, suddenly unable to remember how to form words. She gave him a smile that was half exasperation and half—concerned fondness? Was that really what he read in that expression?

“You look like you’re going to faint, still,” she said. “You really should eat something.”

She let go of his hands, then, and moved back a half step; it was a little easier to think, without her touching him, without her so close, but only a little.

He looked down again at the peach, turned it over in his palms, feeling the softness of the skin, the stickiness as more juice slid over his hands and wrist in an echo of her thumb brushing over his skin.

The Goblin King felt himself flush in confusion.

He turned the peach another half turn, so that the bite Roxanne had taken was once more upright, and then he lifted it to his mouth and bit into it.

 

The Goblin King’s eyes slipped closed as he bit into her peach, black lashes dark against the blue of his cheeks. Juice from the peach ran down over his fingers, and when he pulled the peach away, Roxanne saw that there was more juice on his mouth, his lips slick and shining. The muscles of his long throat worked as he swallowed, and then his eyes fluttered open again.

Roxanne realized with a jolt that she was staring.

She turned away quickly in embarrassed confusion.

( _we must not look at goblin men_ , she thought, a line from some poem or other, something she’d read a long time ago, flitting through her head. _we must not look at goblin men; we must not eat their fruits. for who knows on what soil they fed their hungry, thirsty roots._ )

She cleared her throat.

“See?” she said. “Doesn’t taste like peach.”

“I really wouldn’t know,” the Goblin King said in a low voice and Roxanne looked at him again in surprise.

“You’ve never tasted a peach?” she asked.

“A real one?” he said, and shook his head. “No. Are they better than this?”

“—no,” Roxanne said. “Not—better. Just. Just different. You can have that one; I’ll get another one for myself.”

“That’s—very kind of you,” he said.

Roxanne reached up and plucked another peach. She turned just in time to see him take another bite. He made a quite noise of pleasure, and tilted his face up to the sun.

She was staring again.

This time, though, she couldn’t quite bring herself to look away.

He was—he was really quite beautiful, wasn’t he? The blue of his skin and the lean, graceful lines of him, the full curve of his head and the sharp edges of his face.

She didn’t know why that seemed so important, that he was beautiful.

_(we must not look at goblin men)_

Without taking her eyes off of him, she rolled the second peach in her hand.

_(we must not eat their fruits.)_

Roxanne lifted the peach to her mouth and took a bite.

 

The Goblin King finished the peach Roxanne had given him, and then rinsed his hands in the fountain. Then he leaned back on his hands and watched Roxanne. She appeared to be greatly enjoying herself with the tree. After she had finished her own peach, she plucked a plum and ate that, too, and then a nectarine, and then a double handful of cherries.

There was something—really incredibly fascinating about her, he thought. Her frank enjoyment as she devoured each new fruit, the way she licked her fingers and exclaimed over every new taste.

Sea and stars help him, what was he going to do?

She was so—entirely unpredictable; she’d led them into the courtyard. To help him. She’d led them there, risked everything and broken her own pattern through the labyrinth because she’d been worried about him. How could he ever have expected something like that?

Everything was all out of order, now, all of his careful plans smashed to pieces, and he didn’t even feel angry. Just—

She’d been concerned for him.

He’d known that she was kind—a contentious sort of kindness, born of an awareness of her own ability to hurt. It had been one of the reasons he chose her.

He’d known that she was kind.

He just hadn’t expected that kindness to extend to him.

Roxanne threw away the stone of her second plum, then met his eyes and grinned. She crossed back to the fountain and washed her own hands, took another drink.

He’d have to improvise everything from here on out, the Goblin King realized. There was no other way to deal with someone as unexpected as her.

Roxanne splashed some water over her face, then looked over at him.

“Feeling better?” she asked. “You look a little better.”

“Yes,” he said, and then hesitated. “I—appreciate your concern for—for my well-being, Miss Ritchi.”

She gave him a glance that seemed amused.

“On the subject of my concern for your well-being,” she said, “I’m serious, you really shouldn’t wear so many layers of black when it’s this hot.”

The Goblin King made a face, glancing up at the sun and then back at her.

“The heat is an unfortunate side effect of the necessary brightness,” he said.

(and the brightness really was necessary; shadows always had less power with the sun shining so brightly overhead.)

Roxanne’s look of amusement deepened. Of course she didn’t understand the implication

“And the overheating is an unfortunate side effect of wearing too much black clothing,” she said, reaching out to place two fingertips against his shoulder.

The Goblin King went still at the touch.

“I…I look best in black,” he said, scarcely aware of what he was saying.

Roxanne frowned and tilted her head. She stroked her fingertips across his shoulder, looking critically at the material of his shirt. The Goblin King felt himself stop breathing.

“I don’t know about that,” she said. “You’d look just as good in white, I think. Blue or purple would be nice on you, too—and green would bring out the color of your eyes.”

She glanced back at his face and something in his expression must have surprised her, because she pulled her hand back and swiftly stepped away.

“Anyway,” she said briskly, “you definitely don’t need so many layers, regardless of the color. A cape in this weather is really just unwise.”

“—I wanted to look impressive,” the Goblin King said blankly, feeling a bit like he might be getting faint again.

“You don’t need it.”

The Goblin King went very still, but Roxanne had turned away again, and was looking at the tree once more, as though she hadn’t said anything so very extraordinary.

“Did you make it like that?” she asked.

“Make—? Oh—the—the tree?” the Goblin King said, forcing his mind to focus on the change in conversation only with a great deal of effort. “Yes, I—yes.”

Roxanne made a quiet noise and moved back to the tree, walking around it, looking up at the branches. She reached up and touched one branch. The Goblin King rose and moved to stand beside her.

“Do you—do you like it?” he asked, his heart fluttering, the way it had when she’d said his flying goblins were beautiful.

“It’s amazing,” she said still gazing up at the branches. “How did you do it? All the different kinds, and the way it’s got flowers and fruit at the same time…”

The Goblin King shrugged, looking at her, watching her looking at the tree.

“It’s one of the more difficult types of magic for me,” he said. “I’m best at illusions and the shaping of metal. And music. But I can manage plants, with enough effort. It’s about—telling each branch that it’s a different thing, telling one it’s the branch of a plum tree, another that it’s the branch of a peach tree. The flowers and fruit work on the same principle; for one branch it’s summer, for another it’s spring.”

She looked at him, frowning.

“I thought you couldn’t lie,” she said.

“I can’t,” the Goblin King said, “that’s why it works. Because when I’m able to speak the words, it makes them true. It’s—the words don’t shape the magic, precisely; that happens by force of—it’s not exactly by force of thought or will, but it’s similar. And the words solidify the magic, sort of—fix it in place.”

She looked at him, an expression of avid interest on her face.

“Actually,” the Goblin King said, biting his lip and smiling, “to be honest, I usually cheat a bit and use music, sing instead of talk. It’s easier for me.”

“God, this is all so amazing,” Roxanne said, sounding a little breathless. “Would you—would you show me?”

The Goblin King’s head still ached a little from the magic he’d used already, but he hesitated only half a moment.

“Yes, I can—I’ll show you something. Something small.”

  
Roxanne watched as the Goblin King moved around the tree. He was looking closely at each branch, inspecting them as if he was searching for something specific. Finally he stopped in front of one particular branch. He nodded to himself, and then beckoned to Roxanne. She moved to stand just behind his shoulder.

The branch he’d chosen was one crowded with pink blossoms. He reached up to touch it lightly.

“Watch,” he said, voice soft, and then, just as softly, he began to sing.

He sang in a strange language, something with sliding sibilant sounds and consonants that clicked together strangely. It was beautiful, in spite of that, or, oddly, perhaps because of it, and though Roxanne couldn’t understand any of the words he used, she had the strange conviction that she somehow knew exactly what he was singing about.

(the fullness of summer days filled with warmth and light, the satisfaction of ripening into completion)

And as he sang, the petals fell from the bough and fruit began to swell and grow, green at first, and then yellow and blushing.

Roxanne reached up with wondering hands and pulled down a ripe peach.

The Goblin King kept singing, the song changing, syllables rolling off his tongue faster, now.

(the shaking off of old things, the necessity of getting rid of what was no longer needed, the gratification of freedom from burdens)

The peaches still on the bough grew overripe and then withered away, the green leaves turning dry and brown before falling away from the branch.

In Roxanne’s hand, the peach she had picked was still full and ripe.

The Goblin King sang on, the song slowing into a kind of lullaby.

(the quiet bliss of rest and sleep, sleep, sleep)

Beneath the Goblin King’s fingers, frost formed on the bare branch, in spite of the heat of the sun.

The Goblin King’s voice was rough around the edges now, but still he sang, the song shifting once more, his tone lightening.

(rebirth and renewal and the joy of newness, of becoming)

And the frost melted from the bough, green buds swelling on the branch before bursting into bloom.

Roxanne reached up and touched the petals of one flower and the Goblin King stopped singing. She plucked the flower and turned it between her fingers—flower in one hand and fruit in the other, both from the same tree. The Goblin King took a stumbling step forward and placed his hand flat agains the trunk of the tree, leaned there, his breathing ragged.

“That—” Roxanne said, “that was—unbelievable. You call that ‘something small’?”

“It—should be small,” he said, voice rough, “I must be—more tired than I thought.”

He winced and shook his head, as if to clear it.

“Are you okay?” Roxanne said, worried, pushing at his shoulder to turn him so she could see his face.

He waved a dismissive hand and leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree, his eyes closed, the long, graceful line of his throat exposed.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” Roxanne said guiltily, “I’m sorry—”

“No, no,” he said, opening his eyes and giving her a smile that only looked a little pained. “I didn’t realize; how could you be expected to?”

“I’m still sorry,” Roxanne said. “I should have been thinking.”

The Goblin King’s smile went a little sharper, more wicked around the edges.

“You did at least like it?” he said. “It would be terribly disappointing if I gave myself this headache for nothing.”

“It was amazing,” Roxanne said, “I’ve never seen anything so—” she gestured with both hands, peach in one, flower in the other.

The Goblin King watched her, waiting for her to continue.

“—it was—it was really magic,” Roxanne said, worried she sounded childish, but unable to think of another way to explain.

The Goblin King tipped his head slightly.

“You saw magic before this,” he said.

“Yes, but this was—it was different,” Roxanne said.

She hesitated, the Goblin King watching her still.

“it was—it was magic the way I always imagined it,” she said softly, feeling shy.

The Goblin King’s lips parted; Roxanne didn’t wait to see how his expression changed, but turned away and ducked beneath the branch, putting it between them.

“Then I’m glad I did it,” the Goblin King said, “headache included.”

Roxanne turned to look at him again, between the peach blossoms that separated them. He was smiling at her crookedly. She felt herself flush, and laughed to cover her embarrassment.

“I told you that you didn’t need the cape to be impressive,” she said, voice teasing.

The Goblin King laughed, too, a surprised sound, and Roxanne ducked beneath another branch. He followed her, still laughing.

“I suppose you did!” he said.

Roxanne tucked the flower behind her ear and slipped the peach into the pocket of the mint green silk pajamas she was still wearing.

“Really, though,” she said, smiling over her shoulder at the Goblin King, the two of them weaving in and out and between the branches, “it was impressive. Thank—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” the Goblin King said, voice suddenly sharp and forceful. “ _Don’t say that._ ”

Roxanne stopped moving, confused, and turned to face him.

“Don’t…?”

“Don’t thank me,” he said, voice still sharp, almost glaring at her, “don’t ever thank me. Don’t ever thank any of the fae. Thanking implies that a favor has been done, that a debt is owed, and believe me, Miss Ritchi, that is a position in which you never want to be.”

“Oh,” Roxanne said. “All—all right. That’s—I appreciate you telling me,” she said carefully.

The Goblin King let out a relieved sigh.

Roxanne touched the branch nearest to her, feeling the texture of the wood beneath her fingertips. The tree was still just as beautiful as it had been a moment ago, when they were laughing, but the beautiful happiness of the moment was broken.

“It’s so lovely here,” she said quietly, “it’s easy to forget that we’re in danger. But we are in danger, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” the Goblin King said.

Roxanne looked over at him. He did not meet her gaze, but picked a flower from a nearby bough, another flower from a different branch, and began to twist their stems together, his eyes on his hands.

“So it is dangerous for you as well as me,” Roxanne said.

The Goblin King looked up at her sharply, his eyes wide.

“I didn’t mean to tell you that,” he said.

Roxanne gave him a wry smile.

“I figured,” she said. “Can you tell me what we’re in danger from?”

The Goblin King pressed his lips together and shook his head. His eyes dropped and his hands began their movements again, picking flowers, twisting and knotting the blooms together.

“You’re in danger,” Roxanne said, ticking points off her fingers, “I’m in danger, too. Presumably we’re in danger from the same thing, is that right?”

She watched him closely, but he did not respond or look up from the flowers he was weaving together.

“The challenge is for me to solve the labyrinth and find out what’s at the center,” Roxanne continued, “So, logically, solving the labyrinth should make both of us safe.”

She paused. Again the Goblin King did not look up or respond, but this time his head twitched, very slightly, as though he was trying to keep himself from shaking it in negation.

“Solving the labyrinth won’t make us safe?” Roxanne said incredulously.

The Goblin King looked up at her, eyes wide.

“I didn’t say that,” he said.

“Why am I here, then?” Roxanne said, ignoring this, “Don’t you want me to—to fix things somehow, so that both of us are safe?”

The Goblin King gave a bright, careless laugh and smiled a wicked smile, his broken green glass bottle eyes glinting at her.

“No,” he said. “Oh, no, Miss Ritchi! Both of us safe? That isn’t the idea at all.”

Roxanne made a noise of vexation and he dropped the flower crown he’d made on her head. She regarded him from beneath it, frowning in frustration.

“I wish you’d at least give me a hint about what you want me to do,” she said.

He smiled at her again, sharp edges and the gleam of teeth.

“How do you know I haven’t?” he said, and slipped away, between the branches.

Roxanne followed him back to the courtyard, frowning still, but in thought now.

Had he given her a hint without her noticing? How could he have?

Roxanne took a drink from the fountain as the Goblin King picked up his cape, with its tall collar and its heavy, spiked shoulder pieces, and swirled it on, the gesture theatrically dramatic. Roxanne frowned yet again, in displeasure this time.

“You’re going to get overheated again,” she said. “At least leave the gloves—”

She stopped.

There was a rumbling noise in the distance, though it was growing closer every second. It was an ominous noise, a thunderous kind of thudding and clanking and groaning.

“What—?” she began, and then a giant wheel, its rim edged with boots, crashed through the far wall of the courtyard.

It barreled over the stones of the courtyard, the boots on its rim slamming down as it rolled. Which might have looked ridiculous if it hadn’t been so very large and also heading straight for them.

The Goblin King grabbed her hand.

“I think we should run!” he said.

Roxanne did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tree in the courtyard is based off of The Tree of Forty Fruit; a real type of fruit tree, created by grafting branches of different type of fruit trees together. 
> 
> The poem with the line "we must not look at goblin men" that Roxanne remembers is Goblin Market, by Christina Rossetti. Roxanne actually misremembers the next line, which should be "we must not buy their fruits. who knows upon what soil they fed their hungry, thirsty roots". She remembers it as "we must not eat their fruits. for who knows on what soil they fed their hungry, thirsty roots." Her misremembered version simplifies the language and fits the poem even more fully to her own situation.
> 
> Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews! I really appreciate every one of them so much. And I hope you all enjoyed the new chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

Roxanne and the Goblin King ran through the labyrinth, and the giant wheel thundered after them. No matter how many turns they took, and no matter the direction of these turns, the wheel followed, smashing and crashing through walls, with no sign of slowing or stopping.

When she saw the staircase, Roxanne could almost have sobbed for relief; she raced up the steps, pulling the Goblin King after her. She looked over her shoulder as they reached the top, certain that, at last, they would be safe from the terrible wheel.

And then, beside her, the Goblin King gave a low moan of horror, for the wheel had begun to roll up the staircase, the boots on its rim slamming down hard on each step.

Roxanne ran onwards, the Goblin King’s hand in hers, and the wheel close on their heels. There was a stitch in her side now, and her breath sobbed in and out of her chest as they ran. The Goblin King had begun to tire; he stumbled as they ran, Roxanne seeming almost to drag him along with her by their clasped hands.

She looked frantically from side to side as they raced onwards through the twists and turns of the labyrinth, searching for something, anything, that might save them.

If she had been less occupied in looking from side to side, she might have seen the hole in the ground before she fell into it.

As it was, she did not even realize that there was a hole until she was already falling.

The Goblin King, a good three paces behind her, did have time to see the hole. Had he let go of Roxanne’s hand, he might easily have dodged the hole and run on.

But he did not let go of her hand, and so he, too, tumbled down into the hole and the darkness.

The Goblin King landed hard on an unforgiving earthen floor, and, because of the way he had twisted in the air as they fell, Roxanne landed hard on the Goblin King. For a moment, the two of them, too stunned to do anything else, lay where they had fallen, looking up at the light at the mouth of the hole.

The wheel clattered overtop of the hole, momentarily blocking out the light, and then it thundered on through the labyrinth, the noise of its progress gradually fading into the distance.

Roxanne, who’d had the slightly softer landing, was the first to recover; she groaned and rolled off the Goblin King, pushed herself up on her arms, and looked over at him.

“—are—you all right?” she managed to say.

The Goblin King made a pained noise, but he sat up, so Roxanne assumed that he must not be too badly hurt. She sat up as well, and looked at their surroundings.

They were in a sort of circular chamber with no doors or windows set into the stone walls.

Panic fluttered its wings beneath Roxanne’s breastbone; she looked quickly up, towards the opening of the chamber.

Ignoring the protests of her battered body, she stood, trying to calculate the distance to the opening.

With a groan, the Goblin King dragged himself to his feet as well; Roxanne glanced over at him—she wasn’t exactly tall, and he was the same height as she was. She glanced up at the opening again.

“Do you think,” she said, voice quick and urgent, “that you could hold me up if I stood on your shoulders?”

The Goblin King was silent for a long moment; Roxanne glanced over at him. He was standing with one hand to his head, staring at her—or, at least, staring in her direction; his eyes looked, to Roxanne, as if they were having trouble focusing again. She felt a stab of concern.

“How hard did you hit your head?” she asked, moving to him.

He was standing in the shadows; Roxanne, needing to see him fully, pulled him into the light and gently pushed his hand away from his head.

Her breath hissed between her teeth.

There was a gash on his temple. The blood was shockingly red against the blue of his skin, and as she looked, a thin rivulet of it ran down the side of his face.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Roxanne said, taking hold of his shoulders, “sit down; here—let me—”

She popped the catch of his cape again, and pulled it, and his mantle, from his shoulders, then helped him to sit.

The black outer part of the cape was covered in dirt from their landing, but there were patches of the blue inner lining that were still relatively clean. Roxanne chose the cleanest of these and dabbed lightly at the wound, trying to get as much of the dirt out of the cut as possible. The Goblin King flinched and took a sharp breath the first time the cloth touched the wound, but he was quiet after that, and did not try to move away.

Roxanne put her hand beneath his chin and tipped his face up to the light, trying to see better. He swallowed, and his eyelashes fluttered as he shut his eyes, but he still didn’t cry out.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Roxanne said, “I asked if you were all right!”

Deciding that the cut was as clean as she was likely to be able to make it, Roxanne knelt in front of the Goblin King and pressed the cape to the wound on his temple to staunch the blood, putting her hand on the other side of his head so that she could press the cloth to the cut more firmly.

The Goblin King opened his eyes. They focused on hers this time; Roxanne gave a mental sigh of relief.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you weren’t all right?” she asked again.

“I—I wasn’t sure what parameters you were using for ‘all right’,” he said.

Roxanne narrowed her eyes at him.

“Well, for future reference,” she said, “having a concussion and bleeding from a head wound definitely constitutes ‘not all right’.”

The Goblin King gave a quiet, pained laugh.

“I will—keep that in mind,” he said, “although I don’t think I actually have a concussion now, you know.”

Roxanne raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure?”

There was a pause.

“I am—fairly certain,” he said.

“So you’re not sure,” Roxanne said dryly.

Gingerly, she took the material of the cape away from his head.

“You’ve stopped bleeding at least,” she said, “that’s good. Whoa, wait—what do you think you’re doing?”

The Goblin King stopped.

“…standing?” he said. “I can hold your weight if you stand on my shoulders, yes.”

“No,” Roxanne said.

He blinked at her.

“No?”

“No,” she said, “we’re not doing that right now.”

A look of confusion crossed the Goblin King’s face.

“But I am within the parameters of ‘all right’, now,” he said.

“Wh—no, you are not!” Roxanne said. “What did I just say!”

“That a concussion and bleeding from a head wound constituted outside the parameters of ‘all right’,” the Goblin King said, frustration beginning to blend with the confusion in his expression. “As you have pointed out, I’m no longer bleeding.”

“Just a concussion is still not all right!”

The Goblin King frowned at her.

“I told you,” he said, “I am fairly certain that I am not concussed!”

“Yeah,” Roxanne said, “because that’s really reassuring!”

The Goblin King gave a little growl of frustration.

“I don’t understand you!” he said, “Don’t you want to get out of this hole?”

“Not as much as I want you to be all right!”

The Goblin King went very still, his eyes wide.

“I—“ he said after a moment, voice uncertain, “I am—within my own parameters for ‘all right’.”

“Yeah, well,” Roxanne said, “you’re not within mine.”

He went silent again,and Roxanne sighed.

“I’m tired anyway,” she said. “We were walking for hours, and that was before we had to run from the giant boot wheel of death. Surely the sun must be going to go down soon.”

He looked at her uncertainly.

“And yes,” she continued, “this is a small hole with only one way out, and that’s a little uncomfortable, but it also means that we’re relatively safe and hidden here, right? We’ll get out in the morning. Okay?”

The Goblin King swallowed.

“This is your adventure, Miss Ritchi,” he said, “I’m just—”

“—here to be rescued,” Roxanne said, then laughed at his subsequent expression. On an affectionate impulse, she reached up and stroked her knuckles down his cheek. “Don’t worry. I’m going to save you. Everything’s going to be all right.”

The Goblin King took a sharp breath and closed his eyes again in a slow sweep of dark lashes, and Roxanne was suddenly aware that she was kneeling quite close to him.

She let go of him quickly and moved back and away.

* * *

 

It was odd, Roxanne thought, how fast night fell after that. True, they really had been walking for hours, but the sun had been high overhead the entire time—had hung there in place and not moved.

Once she and the Goblin King fell into the hole, however, the sun set swiftly, and night came rushing in, almost as if the darkness had always been there, hiding in the labyrinth, lying in wait at the edges of the light.

Roxanne told herself sharply to stop thinking like that. There were real dangers enough in this labyrinth; she didn’t need to imagine more.

Perhaps some of her uneasiness communicated itself to the Goblin King—or perhaps it was his uneasiness that communicated itself to her, for he glanced sharply and repeatedly at the lengthening shadows as the sun set. And when the last of the golden light of the sun slipped past the far edge of the entrance to the circular chamber, he took a glowing pendant on a thin silver chain from a hidden pouch beneath his leather mantle and draped it wordlessly over Roxanne’s head.

Roxanne picked the pendant up from its place on her chest and looked at it.

The pendant was small, hollow, and made of glass. It was shaped almost like a teardrop, with a hole in the middle; a silvery bubble at the top of the teardrop, and a tiny glass bubble at the bottom.

And it was filled with light, a gentle, comforting, blue light. Roxanne looked up at the Goblin King, but he was carefully looking in a different direction and did not meet her gaze.

“Th—” Roxanne remembered just in time not to thank him, “—this is beautiful.”

The Goblin King looked at her, and Roxanne settled the pendant on her breast once more.

“I appreciate you letting me wear it,” she said carefully, and he gave her a swift, fleeting smile.

The warmth of the day had vanished with its light; Roxanne shivered, and rubbed her hands over her arms.

“—here,” the Goblin King said, unbuckling his gloves.

He handed them to her.

“You should put them on,” he said, when Roxanne just looked at them for a long moment. “You’re cold.”

“Won’t you be cold?” Roxanne asked, biting her lip and gazing longingly at the gloves.

“As you pointed out earlier,” the Goblin King said, one corner of his mouth lifting into a crooked smile, “I am wearing rather a lot of clothing.”

Roxanne hesitated a moment longer—but he truly didn’t seem to be feeling the cold as she was. She slid her left hand into the first of the gloves.

The leather of the glove was soft and supple, and still warm from the heat of the Goblin King’s body. Roxanne made a noise of bliss as she pulled it on and tugged it up over her elbow. She pulled the second glove on quickly, and fastened the buckles to hold the gloves in place.

Between the gloves and her pajama shirt, nearly all of the skin of her arms was covered; a great improvement, though her pajama shorts bared too much of her legs for her to be really warm. She pulled her legs into her chest and wrapped her arms around them, which helped, and curled her toes in the slippers that she thankfully had managed not to lose during the flight from the boot wheel of death.

The Goblin King glanced down at her slippers, then tipped his head thoughtfully.

“…what?” Roxanne said a little defensively, for these slippers were the set that featured a pair of pink bunny ears on each shoe. “It’s not like I knew I was going on this adventure when I put them on.”

“Hm? Oh!” the Goblin King said, “no, I was—we should trade shoes; I believe our feet are the same size.”

“—seriously?” Roxanne said, as he began to tug off one of his boots.

“Oh—yes,” he said.

He picked up his now bare foot and showed it to her.

“See?”

“No, I meant—” Roxanne laughed incredulously as he pulled off his other boot and pushed both of them towards her. “You seriously want to trade shoes?”

“The boots will cover more of your legs,” he pointed out.

Roxanne laughed again and kicked her slippers off and towards him.

“What happened to dressing to look impressive?” she asked teasingly as she pulled the boots on.

These, like the gloves, were soft and warm from the heat of his body.

“I have it on the best authority,” the Goblin King said with lofty hauteur, “that I do not need to.”

He put his feet into her slippers with a grand gesture and Roxanne laughed again.

“Hm,” he said, looking down his nose at her, still with an air of dignity, “you, on the other hand…”

Roxanne gave a gasp of mock outrage, and he grinned at her a bit wickedly before tossing his cape at her.

“Rude!” Roxanne said, catching it.

She grinned back at him, and he arched his eyebrows at her. Roxanne looked down at the cape in her hands.

Upon close inspection, she found that the material of the cape was fastened to the spiked leather mantle by a series of little hook-and-eye clasps; she unfastened these, separating the two pieces of the cape. She draped the material over her lap and put the mantle down on the ground, the spikes pointing towards the earth. Then she lay down and placed her head gingerly on the leather of the mantle, testing to see if the spikes should prove too uncomfortable even like this.

No—no, that would certainly do. Roxanne shifted into a slightly more comfortable position and pulled the cape up to cover her shoulders.

She glanced over at the Goblin King, who was sitting with his back against the wall of their cavern opposite Roxanne, watching her.

The pendant around her neck cast a gentle glow, and, through the opening in the cavern’s ceiling, the stars overhead lent a little light as well. Their cavern was illuminated enough to allow Roxanne to see, but dark enough that Roxanne did not quite feel as if she could completely trust her eyes.

The Goblin King sat on the far side of the cavern, out of the two pools of light cast by the pendant and the stars through the cavern’s hole. In the darkness, the sharp lines of his face seemed even more angular, and the curve of his head even more pronounced. His eyes shone green in the dark, like a cat’s.

Seen in the sunlight, his appearance had ceased to startle Roxanne; seen in shadows he was once again something unearthly and fantastic.

For a moment, Roxanne’s breath caught, and she felt—

Not frightened; even alone in the dark with him like this, she couldn’t seem to feel frightened of him. No, she felt—

Insignificant.

—the inescapable conviction that he was something fine and beautiful and pure and that anything human must be but a poor imitation of him.

And then she told herself to stop being so silly, and looked down at his feet, at her slippers that he was still wearing, and felt a bit better, for it is hard to be overawed by someone who is wearing bunny slippers, no matter how awe-inspiring they might otherwise be.

“Do you—want to share the cape?” she asked.

Even in the shadows, she could see his face register surprise at the offer.

“I—ah—I think,” he said, “that I’ll…stay up a while. And make—sure…nothing—comes into the cavern in the night.”

“Oh,” Roxanne said, uncertain of whether to feel snubbed or worried, “all right, then. Um. Good night.”

“Sleep well,” the Goblin King said.

Roxanne curled up a little more beneath the cape and closed her eyes.

After a few minutes, the sound of her breathing told the Goblin King that she was asleep. He sat against the wall of the cavern still, waiting.

And in the night, the Nothing came.

The Nothing came to the Goblin King in the shape of a woman, her face very white, like bleached bone, and shadows bled black from the hem of the dress that she wore.

_You have been very foolish_ , said the Nothing, her voice as sweet as poisoned wine in the Goblin King’s mind.

“I’d say that I’ve been rather clever,” he said, and managed to smirk, his hands curled into fists at his sides to disguise their shaking. “Although I admit that being chased by your wheel was a bit uncomfortable.”

_My wheel?_ The Nothing laughed, and the Goblin King wanted to claw at the inside of his own head to rid himself of the sound of her laughter. _That wheel was none of mine. You’re losing control of your labyrinth. The time of the Tithe draws near. It was unwise of you to wait this long._

The Nothing turned her bone white face towards the shape of the sleeping Roxanne, and the Goblin King tensed.

_Isn’t that sweet?_ the Nothing said. _She thinks that she’s here to save you._

Roxanne stirred in her sleep, as if she heard the voice of the Nothing.

The bone white face turned away from her and towards the Goblin King. The Nothing’s blood red lips curved into a smile.

_I suppose she is, in a way_ , she said. _Though she seems a strange choice. Too clever. She’ll understand what’s happening. I never took you for the type to enjoy the sound of screaming._

“The greater the Tithe,” the Goblin King said, forcing himself to shrug carelessly, “the longer we’ll have before the next comes due.” He smiled, sharp as a blade. “And I have heard that a willing Tithe who understands is the greatest of all.”

The Nothing laughed, bright and sweet, and the shadows of her hem rippled with the sound.

_So that is the game you play with your labyrinth and your clever girl!_ she said. _You think to make her willing!_

She reached out with a white hand and touched the face of the Goblin King in an echo of Roxanne’s touch as she promised to save him.

_Well_ , the Nothing said, _and perhaps you can._

And then the Nothing bled into the shadows and was gone.

The Goblin King shuddered and closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his knees.

In the pool of light cast by her pendant, Roxanne slept fitfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...to be continued.
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read and comment! I appreciate them so much.


	6. Chapter 6

Roxanne awoke to darkness.

She felt, confusingly, as if she had slept for a long time, but that couldn’t be true, for it was still very dark in the cavern. Perhaps she’d woken because of a nightmare?

Roxanne sat up and shook her head, trying to clear it. She’d been dreaming of—

Scraps of the dream drifted across her mind, then disappeared like wisps of smoke. Someone—someone with green eyes—the Goblin King?

No—no, the man in the bookshop, the rude man with the wild hair.

Had his eyes been so green in truth? Or was that her memory and dreaming mind playing tricks on her?

—green eyes—

_(green eyes glinting in the darkness outside her window)_

—and a voice, a woman’s voice, beautiful and terrible at the same time, and she’d said—

—she’d said—

—what had she said?

Roxanne shut her eyes tightly and snatched at the memory, and for a moment it seemed as if it was within her reach, but then—

“Bowg!”

The strange, mechanical barking noise made her jump and open her eyes.

One of the Goblin King’s flying metal goblins had swooped down into the cavern, and was hovering in the air before her, regarding her through its mechanical eye.

The thing glowed gently in the cavern, blue electricity crackling beneath the glass dome of its body. The tilt of its eyestalk gave the goblin an unmistakable expression of curiosity.

“Bowg?” It was the same noise, but with a questioning lilt to it this time.

“Er—hello,” Roxanne said to it.

The greeting seemed to please the goblin, for it wriggled in the air and then turned away from Roxanne, flying over to where the Goblin King slept, casting its blue light over him.

The Goblin King had lain down in the night, his body turned towards Roxanne’s and half-curled into a ball. His head rested on one bent arm. Sleep made his face look neither young nor carefree; without the dramatic shifting expressions his face wore when he was awake, there was nothing to distract from the violet half-moon shadows beneath his eyes, from the way his brows drew together with worry even in repose, from the sensitive, unhappy shape of his mouth.

He looked more tired now than ever.

Movement tore Roxanne’s attention away from the Goblin King; she looked again at the metal goblin as it uncurled one of its long metal arms and carefully placed a ball on the ground.

The ball was about the size of an apple, perfectly round and made of some kind of translucently white crystal or stone. The goblin tapped the ball with a metal claw, then gently pushed it towards the Goblin King. It rolled towards him, fetching up against his hand.

_“Sir.”_

Roxanne jumped again. The voice that had spoken sounded nothing like the harsh barking sounds of the goblins, and it had seemed to come from the crystal.

The Goblin King seemed just barely to hear it, for he stirred slightly, frowning.

_“Sir. Sir!”_

The Goblin King opened his eyes, blinking dazedly.

“Uh?” he said.

 _“Sir,”_ the voice from the crystal said again, _“it should be morning.”_

“—morning?” the Goblin King said, less as if he was questioning the truth of the voice’s statement and more as if he was trying to remember what the word meant.

 _“Morning,”_ the voice said, its tone urgent. _“Sir, where’s the sun?”_

The Goblin King pushed himself ungracefully up to a sitting position. He squinted up at the opening at the top of the cavern.

“—sun,” he repeated.

_“Yes, Sir; the sun. Where is it?”_

“—’s warming up,” he said blearily.

 _“Warming up?”_ the voice said.

“The sun is warming up?” Roxanne said, sure that she must be missing some vital piece of this conversation, the piece that would make it actually make sense.

The Goblin King looked over at her and then rubbed a hand over his face. Then he looked up at the cavern opening again, features screwed up as if in concentration. He stared at the opening hard for several long moments, and then he let out a breath through clenched teeth.

“It’s coming up, now,” he said, and waved a hand at the opening. The grace of the gesture contrasted oddly with the careless way he slouched back against the wall as he made it. “See?”

Roxanne glanced up at the opening. Sure enough, what she could see of the sky was already beginning to turn gray with dawn.

 _“Sun is coming up nicely, Sir,”_ the voice from the crystal said.

The Goblin King leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

“Well done, Minion,” he said.

“Oh!” Roxanne looked closer at the crystal. “Is—are you Minion?”

The voice did not answer for a moment.

 _“You told her about me, Sir?”_ the voice sounded more surprised than pleased.

“Yes, that’s Minion,” the Goblin King said.

“Minion is…inside the ball?” Roxanne asked hesitantly.

The Goblin King gave a surprised laugh.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Minion is at the palace, still. The ball is something we use to communicate.”

“Oh—like a magic mirror,” Roxanne said.

The Goblin King gave a hum of affirmation.

“Something like that, yes,” he said, “but without the visual component.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Minion,” Roxanne said. “My name is—”

 _“—I know who you are, Miss Ritchi,”_ Minion said hurriedly, cutting her off.

“—say hello to Miss Ritchi, Minion,” the Goblin King said loudly at the same time.

Roxanne blinked at him.

 _“Hello, Miss Ritchi!”_ the voice from inside the ball said.

“…yes,” Roxanne said, “hello. I—look forward to meeting you properly when we get to the palace.”

 _“—right,”_ Minion said, and Roxanne thought his voice sounded uneasy. “Sir, you—”

“Well, goodbye, Minion; yes; we’ll speak later!” the Goblin King said quickly, and rolled the crystal beneath his palm, cutting off Minion’s voice mid-sentence.

“Bowg,” said the little metal goblin.

“Yes, you can take this back, now,” the Goblin King said to it, handing it the ball. The goblin took it delicately between two metal pincers. “You did very well, didn’t you? Yes, you did! Yes, you did!”

“Bowg bowg!” the goblin said, and wriggled happily in the air.

The Goblin King rubbed an affectionate hand over its glass body, then made a shooing motion at it. The goblin began to fly upwards.

“Wait!”  
The goblin halted its flight and turned to look at Roxanne with a curious tilt of its eyestalk. The Goblin King looked at her curiously, too. She turned and grinned at him.

“I’ve got a better idea for getting out of here than you holding me up,” she said. “Can you call us some more goblins?”

The Goblin King’s face brightened as understanding dawned.

* * *

The goblins were very careful as they lifted the two of them out of the hole, but the Goblin King was still surprised to find how little Roxanne appeared to mind the flight. He would have guessed that she’d be much more nervous about it.

But, then, Roxanne was seldom apprehensive about the things most people would fear. Even the alligator door and the boot wheel of death had only frightened her while they were actually happening. As soon as both ordeals were over, she had shaken off her fear and been ready to go on.

It was _astonishing_.

 _She_ was astonishing

The goblins flew her up first, and he found, when he went up with the next group, that she had actually commanded her group not to put her down right away, but to fly her even higher, up above the walls of the labyrinth.

—so that she could see where they ought to go, the Goblin King realized, with a rush of admiration, and, for the first time since he’d learned she hadn’t read the book meant to guide her, he felt a small tendril of hope unfurl in his heart like a hesitant plant.

True, he was fast losing control of the labyrinth—the lack of sunrise this morning was a sobering reminder of that. But nevertheless—perhaps they weren’t actually going to die!

“Was that cheating?” Roxanne said as the goblins at last put her down on the ground with him.

There was an uncertain look to her eyes and the corners of her mouth, as though she wanted praise but expected to be reprimanded instead.

“It was _brilliant_ ,” the Goblin King said earnestly.

She did smile, then, and laughed, and at the sound of her laughter, the Goblin King felt a strange sort of thrumming feeling in his chest—as if there were a harp inside him there and she’d just reached her hand inside of him and brushed her fingertips across the strings.

“Besides which,” he said, ignoring the odd sensation, “a certain amount of really _creative_ cheating is encouraged!”

She grinned at him and ran her hand across the dome of one of his goblins—again, that strange thrumming in his chest—and then waved her group of goblins away. They flew to the Goblin King uncertainly and he reached up to pat one absently before shooing them off.

They flew together in a swarm over the walls of the labyrinth and disappeared into the distance.

“I would have just told them to fly us all the way there,” Roxanne said, “but I saw that there’s a—” she gestured illustratively with both hands, “—well, I don’t know what you’d actually call it, but it looks like a forcefield to me—around the palace.”

“The shield,” the Goblin King murmured.

“The bubble that looks like it’s made of electricity, yeah,” she said. “Like the stuff that’s inside your goblins. Which—I’m guessing that they’re able to go through it, but considering way the ground is bare and smoking all around it, I’m guessing that if we tried to go in like that, I’d regret it for about two very exciting seconds before I was reduced to a pile of ash.”

She gave him a dry look and the Goblin King made an apologetic face at her.

“So I’m thinking there must be tunnels to get in from underground,” she said, and then paused, as if she was hoping he would say something to confirm or deny her theory. After a moment during which the Goblin King kept his face carefully blank, she sighed and rubbed a hand over her face.

“Yes,” she said, “I didn’t think you’d be able to tell me.”

The Goblin King made another apologetic face.

“It’s all right,” she said, smiling at him. She reached out for his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

The Goblin King looked down at their joined hands. His bare fingers twined with her gloved ones; that felt almost as surprising as it looked.

“Oh!” she said, letting go of his hand, “you probably want to switch back, right?”

She moved to undo the clasp of one glove, then pulled the black leather down her arm, revealing her skin inch by inch—

The Goblin King realized that he’d been staring and flushed in embarrassment and confusion. He looked up into her face and took the glove from her.

He was careful not to stare any more as she pulled off the other glove, then his boots, busying himself with taking off her shoes and putting on the things she gave him.

With a final flourish, he fastened the clasp of his cape. She eyed this maneuver critically, but did not again advise him to leave his cape behind—perhaps she was remembering how useful it had been in the night.

(a memory of the night, and what had come to him then made him shiver, but he put the thought of it resolutely aside.)

“Well,” he said, “shall we?”

Roxanne reached out and linked her arm in his.

“We shall,” she said grandly, and began to walk.

Roxanne had memorized a certain number of turnings from her look down at the labyrinth, but there had been a great deal of labyrinth in between the cavern that they had slept in and the clearing around the palace, and eventually they passed beyond the point that Roxanne could recall confidently which turn they were to take.

She chose their path randomly for some time, then, backtracking when they hit dead ends. Progress was frustratingly slow, and the sun was hot overhead. After they had been walking for around an hour, she took the peach from her pajama pocket and she and the Goblin King shared it between themselves.

It was delicious, but gone much too soon, and it was with regret that Roxanne licked the last of the juice from the pit and put it back in her pocket.

“Tell me,” she said, as they began again to walk, “what do you usually spend your time doing? When you’re not kidnapping people and following them around in your labyrinth, I mean?”

The Goblin King shot her a worried look at that last comment, and Roxanne smiled and squeezed his arm to reassure him that it had been a joke.

“Well, the labyrinth does require regular maintenance,” he said. “So that takes up some of my time.”

“Did you make it? Like how you showed me, with the tree?”

“I made some of it,” he said, “but most of it was already here.”

“Oh!” Roxanne said. “Really?”

The Goblin King nodded.

“This world was old before I came to it,” he said. “I believe that there were—several different periods of construction on the labyrinth. I built very little of it; most of what I’ve done has been in the nature of—alterations like the fountain and the tree.”

“And the palace?”

“Oh, the palace was already here as well,” he said. “Though I have altered it considerably! I think everyone who lived there must have altered it considerably.”

“And…none of them are left?” Roxanne asked.

“No,” the Goblin King said.

For a long moment he was silent.

“There are bones,” he said quietly.

Roxanne shivered in spite of the bright sun.

“And—the goblins?” she asked.

“The goblins?”

“They seem—alive; how did you make them like that?”

“Oh, they are alive, really!” he said. “This world—it’s perpendicular, I told you that. And there are doorways and weak points and things…can come through. Or be pulled through. Lost things. Things that—are unwanted.”

He glanced at her face, his expression uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure she wanted to hear him go on.

“—dogs and cats,” he said. “They’re—almost always dying, when I get them here. So—I fix that.”

“…and make them into goblins,” Roxanne said slowly. “That’s…why they’re made of metal like that. You make them new bodies.”

“Yes,” the Goblin King said.

For a long moment they walked on in silence, and then he cleared his throat.

“And—you, Miss Ritchi?” he asked. “How do you spend your time in your world?”

“Oh,” Roxanne said, “well, I—I’m a journalist. I investigate things and write news pieces that the broadcast teams present.”

She hesitated for a moment, wondering whether—but no; of course she didn’t need to tell him—

“And what else?”

“What else?” she asked.

“What else do you like to do in your world?”

Roxanne opened her mouth to answer—and then shut it again.

“There are—things,” she said, “that people like to do. Read, watch movies or television, go to museums or libraries, ride bicycles…”

“ _Television_ ,” the Goblin King said, as if he greatly enjoyed the word. “That’s what you do.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You—probably don’t have anything like that, here; do you?”

“Not exactly,” the Goblin King said. “There’s a viewing pool in the palace, though. It looks through a kind of—window into your world. You can see things.”

His voice was wistful.

“—that’s how you knew my name,” Roxanne said, realizing. She let go of his arm stopping walking. “That’s how you knew—what I’m like, that I’d want to solve the labyrinth. You were—watching me.”

The Goblin King stopped walking as well, and turned towards her with a worried expression.

“I had to find the right person,” he said, “I _had_ to. I looked for so long, trying to find the right person.”

“So it—wasn’t just me you were watching,” Roxanne said.

“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “No, it wasn’t just you, and it wasn’t just—it wasn’t just people, it was—oh, everything! Machines and forests and oceans and sunsets and fireworks—”

The longing in his voice was even more noticeable now, his eyes faraway.

“You don’t like this world very much,” Roxanne said, “do you.”

His eyes focused on her again with a startled expression.

“Why don’t you leave?” she asked.

His lips parted, then he shook his head and began to walk on. Roxanne, frowning, kept pace with him.

“Books, you mentioned,” the Goblin said, his voice brightly cheerful, “you like reading.”

“…yes, I do,” Roxanne said, taken aback by this abrupt change of subject. “Do you? Are there even books here?”

“Oh, there are books here,” the Goblin King said. “Lost things, unwanted things; I told you. How do you feel about drama? Shakespeare? Do you know Hamlet?”  
“I—yes?” Roxanne said.

“How well?”

Roxanne blinked, even more baffled.

“I mean,” she said, “pretty well. I took a drama class my last year of college; we did a reading of it. I had to read for Rosencrantz.”

“Rosencrantz,” the Goblin King said, and there was an odd, repressed excitement in his voice. “That is—interesting. Do you remember any of the lines?”

“I don’t know,” Roxanne said, still confused, “maybe?”

“ _Denmark’s a prison_ ,” the Goblin King said.

“ _Then is the world one_ ,” she answered automatically—that was the next line, Rosencrantz responding to Hamlet. “Ha! I guess I do remember some of the lines!”

The Goblin King hummed, but made no further answer. Roxanne frowned at this lack of reaction. He had asked if she remembered the lines; why wasn’t he interested now?

_(Denmark’s a prison.)_

—had—was it not her memory but—the lines themselves that were important?

_(Denmark’s a prison.)_

Her eyes widened.

_(Then is the world one.)_

The Goblin King was watching her face, and he must have seen understanding dawn on it, because he nodded sharply.

Roxanne thought very hard for several minutes as the two of them walked on in silence.

“Was it—“ she said at last, “was it very difficult to bring me here?”

“A bit difficult, yes,” the Goblin King said, “but not terribly. You—were needed. The rules allow for that.”

Roxanne frowned.

“And it would be more difficult to send me back,” she said.

“No.”

Roxanne’s frown deepened.

“But—”

But he’d called this world a prison; how could it not be more difficult for her to escape from it than for him to bring her to it?

“Things want to return to their proper place,” the Goblin King said. “They want to be where they _belong_. In the _places_ they belong and—and _with the people they belong to._ ”

“And the world you came from is gone,” Roxanne said slowly. “All of the people are gone.”

Gone—so there was nowhere and no one for him to return to. And so he was stuck here.

Was this—was this what he wanted her to realize? Was this what he wanted her to find at the center of the labyrinth? A way to bring him to her world?

She bit her lip. The way he glanced around at the shadows from time to time, the way he abruptly changed the subject and spoke in code—he acted as if there was someone in the labyrinth watching them, listening to them talk to each other.

Minion? No, there had been genuine affection in his voice when he’d spoken of Minion, and affection in his voice again when he’d spoken to Minion.

He was afraid of whatever was watching them; he wasn’t afraid of Minion.

(the fisher king; have to ask the right questions; should she simply ask him? could he answer? if he couldn’t answer, would it be a sign that she was close to the truth?)

“…the Fisher King,” she said, watching his face out of the corner of her eyes.

He looked over at her, expression very focused.

“Is that—do you want me to bring you back with me somehow?” Roxanne blurted out. “Is that why I’m here?”

He blinked at her.

“Bring me back with you?” the Goblin King said. “No.”

Roxanne’s breath hissed between her teeth in vexation. She’d been almost certain that was the answer.

“The Fisher King,” the Goblin King said, and it was Roxanne’s turn to look at him sharply.

“Do you remember…anything else about that story?” he asked, his voice oddly intense.

Roxanne frowned.

“There was—a quest,” she said, “for the holy grail, right?”

“Yes,” the Goblin King said, but he sounded frustrated.

(was he trying to give her a hint?)

“What about another story,” the Goblin King said, a note of urgency creeping into his voice, “Tam Lin?”

“Uh,” Roxanne, who had been trying to remember anything more about the plot of the Fisher King, tried to recall the plot of Tam Lin instead. “…doesn’t the girl get pregnant out of wedlock by the fairy guy?”

The Goblin King made a choking noise and Roxanne flushed, trying even more furiously to think of another plot point, any other plot point from that story—

“—yeah, that’s all I’ve got,” she was forced to admit.

“ _That_?” the Goblin King sounded somewhere between outraged and dismayed. “Out of everything that happens in that ballad, the only thing you remember is _that_?”

“Listen,” Roxanne said defensively, “when you grow up as a girl in a small town in the midwest, _‘gets pregnant out of wedlock’_ is the kind of thing that tends to stick in your mind as an important plot point!”

The Goblin King made a frustrated noise.

“Yes,” he said, “and of course you’re right, yes; it is an important plot point but—”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, looking suddenly weary. Roxanne’s heart twisted with remorse and concern.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He looked over at her with a surprised expression.

“For—not being able to remember what you’re talking about,” she said. “You should have picked someone smarter to help you. I can’t have been your first choice.”

“Nonsense, Miss Ritchi; you’re brilliant,” the Goblin King said.

Roxanne pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“You are,” he said forcefully.

He stopped walking and caught her arm, making her stop as well.

“I’m not lying,” he said, “I _can’t_ lie. _You are brilliant._ You were my first choice, Miss Ritchi. I would have no one else.”

Roxanne swallowed.

(why did he still think so well of her, when she’d been too stupid to understand any of the hints he was trying to give, to catch any of his references.)

“I—I told you that I like reading,” she said in a small voice, “and I do like reading. I just—the kinds of books I like aren’t really—they’re not like the kind of things you’re talking about. I—like romance novels.”

She looked down at her feet, not wanting to see his inevitable expression of disappointment and scorn.

“ _Romance novels_ ,” the Goblin King said.

Roxanne looked up sharply at him, her eyes wide, because he hadn’t sounded scornful or disappointed at all; he’d sounded—

“Do you—get romance novels here?” she asked tentatively.

“Not nearly often enough,” the Goblin King said, his tone and expression still a mix of longing and rapture. “I managed to get one a few weeks ago, though— _Shy Violet_ —it was on the table of unwanted books at that library you go to.”

“Unwanted things,” Roxanne said, remembering his words. “Lost things. That’s what ends up here, you said.”

“Yes,” the Goblin King said, giving her a quick glance of approval. “That’s why I was able to pull it through.”

“So—you—like romance novels?” she asked, still uncertain.

“Very much,” the Goblin King said.

Roxanne gave a little breathless laugh of surprised relief.

“Yeah?” she said. “What else? Shakespeare, you said. And—all of that—old, classic folklore stuff that you were talking about.”

“Oh,” the Goblin King said, “Shakespeare, yes, but a lot of the classic folklore knowledge is less a matter of personal taste and more a matter of—cultural importance.”

Roxanne tipped her head curiously.

“Cultural importance? My culture? Or yours?”

“Both,” he said. “And—important to the—meeting of our cultures. But! Personal taste—romance novels, I like poetry—”

Roxanne made a quiet noise and then flushed when he glanced over at her, his expression curious. She cast around in her mind quickly for something to say that wasn’t _‘you are really unfairly attractive’_ —which was what she’d been thinking.

“Um—poetry,” she said. “I like poetry, too.”

(god, could she have come up with anything more excessively insipid?)

The Goblin King’s face lit up.

“Really?” he said. “Poetry—poetry—ah—Sylvia Plath?” He gestured excitedly, hands fluttering like startled birds. “—Mad Girl’s Love Song? Do you know that one?”

Roxanne frowned, trying to recall—

“ _I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead_ ,” she said slowly, remembering. “ _I lift my lids and all is born again—I think I made you up inside my head._ ”

“Yes,” the Goblin King said, looking at her with an expression of such intense focus that Roxanne’s breath caught. “Yes, that’s how it goes. Do you remember any more?”

Roxanne bit her lip.

“—the stars,” the Goblin King said softly, without looking away from her face.

“—the stars,” Roxanne said. “ _The stars—go waltzing out in blue and red. And—and arbitrary blackness gallops in. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead._ ”

She’d moved towards him without noticing, she realized, or perhaps he’d moved towards her. They stood very close now, close enough for the sharp breath he took to be clearly audible.

—there was something indescribably fascinating about his eyes; she couldn’t look away from them. 

“—I’ve forgotten the next part,” Roxanne said, her voice hushed.

The Goblin King took another of those sharp little breaths.

“I—” he said, “ _I dreamed you bewitched me into bed; sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane—_ ”

He stopped and swallowed visibly, his eyes wide and impossibly green and—

“—I’ve actually forgotten the rest as well,” he said.

—wide and impossibly green and _worried_. He looked worried—almost _afraid_.

Roxanne, swaying forward as if to kiss him, came to her senses with an abrupt jerk and stepped back from him quickly.

“Right!” she said, and internally winced at the extremely false note of bright cheerfulness in her voice. “That is—yes, that’s definitely a good one! Ah—well—we’d—we’d better get going!”

She turned and began to walk rapidly.

The Goblin King stood where she’d left him for a long moment, frozen in place.

With a shiver, he seemed to come back to himself suddenly.

He wrapped one arm around his chest, pressed the fingers of his other hand against his mouth, eyes very wide.

Then he shook his head as if he was trying to clear it and began to walk after Roxanne, hurrying to catch up with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...to be continued.
> 
> Thank you all so much for continuing to read and comment! Getting comments is always so exciting! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

Roxanne and the Goblin King turned a corner and stopped abruptly.

In front of them, there was a stone-paved courtyard—and set into the far wall was a pair of double doors made of iron. They were very large doors, twice Roxanne’s height, and neither appeared to have any doorknob or handle.

In the center of the courtyard, there was a very strange statue, which looked to Roxanne to be an example of the more unappealing kind of postmodern art. It consisted of a short stone plinth with a child’s toy piano keyboard mounted halfway up the low column, and, on top of the plinth, an ugly stone head.

Roxanne wasn’t terribly interested in the statue; she was much more interested in the doors—she approached them and ran a hand over one. Cold metal, smooth and flat, no nicks or grooves or hidden catches. She gave it an experimental push, and was disappointed but unsurprised when it didn’t budge.

Again, she pushed, this time with all her strength.

Not even the slightest hint of movement.

She made a face and glanced over her shoulder at the Goblin King, who was standing next to the statue, gazing at it with an expression of distaste. As if sensing her eyes on him, though, he looked up and tilted his head questioningly.

Roxanne sighed and went to stand at his side.

“I think,” she said, “that we’re supposed to go through these doors.” She frowned, a suspicious thought occurring. “Or maybe I’m just supposed to want to go through them…”

“You mean you think it’s a trap?” the Goblin King asked.

“I don’t know," Roxanne said slowly. “A trap that’s difficult to get into seems kind of ridiculous.”

She glanced at the doors and narrowed her eyes in frustration. What was on the other side of them?

“—but that’s just the sort of trap that would work on me,” Roxanne admitted.

“So you know that about yourself,” the Goblin King said.

Roxanne looked at him again. He was looking at her with a strangely sharp and focused expression.

“That is interesting,” he said.

“Why?” Roxanne asked.

The Goblin King didn’t answer, just shook his head slightly and turned away to look at the statue again. Frowning, Roxanne looked at the statue as well.

Seen up close, she liked it even less. The way that the child’s keyboard was set into the plinth made it look as if the stone was absorbing it, and the head atop the plinth was—all wrong. The proportions of it were subtly off—the nose and ears too small, the lipless mouth pulled into a grin that showed a few too many teeth. These teeth weren’t stone; they were off-white and shiny, and oddly small.

Like children’s teeth, Roxanne thought, and at the thought felt a bit ill.

(bones, he’d said. sometimes there were bones.)

The eyes weren’t made of stone, either; they were smooth blue glass orbs like marbles—no whites or pupils.

They still somehow gave Roxanne a disturbing impression of being watched.

“Please tell me,” she said to the Goblin King, “that you didn’t make this.”

Beside her, he made a sound of disgust.

“Definitely not,” he said.

Roxanne looked over at him. He grimaced at her.

“I’ve tried to get rid of it,” he said. “It always comes back.”

“Always…?”

(comes back? what—what did that mean, exactly?)

Fear and horror slid up Roxanne’s spine like bony fingers, hot and cold at the same time. She stumbled back from the statue, reaching automatically for the Goblin King’s hand, pulling him back with her.

He took a sharp little breath of surprise, and then his fingers tightened around hers.

(comes back; it always comes back, and those shiny little white teeth might be made of porcelain but she really couldn’t convince herself that they were and—)

All of Roxanne’s instincts screamed at her to turn and run from the horrible statue, to—no, not to turn; not to turn her back on that—thing. She wanted—

Roxanne gritted her teeth.

It was supposed to scare her.

That’s what this thing was meant to do; it had—been put here or—or come here, to scare her.

To scare her away from the iron doors.

She glared at the statue and stepped forward, loosening her hold on the Goblin King’s hand, not wanting to drag him closer to the statue against his will. He didn’t let go of her hand, though, and stepped forward to stand in front of the statue with her.

Roxanne tightened her fingers in his gratefully.

She glared at the statue, looking directly into the horrible face, not looking away.

“I want,” she said, voice loud and deliberate, “to go through those doors. Let me in.”

For a long moment, nothing happened, and then, without warning, the mouth of the statue fell open, the lower jaw dropping to dangle on its hinges.

Roxanne flinched away from the statue, making a half-smothered sound of horror.

A little piece of paper fell, fluttering, from the mouth of the statue. The Goblin King caught it.

“Does it say something?” Roxanne asked, keeping a wary eye on the statue.

“Yes,” the Goblin King said. “It’s a riddle.”

“A riddle,” Roxanne repeated softly, still looking at the head. “So you’ll let us through the doors if we answer?”

The head didn’t move or respond—for which Roxanne was profoundly grateful.

“Read it to me,” she said.

The Goblin King cleared his throat.

“Storms and needles are alike.  
A strange fact, but it’s true.  
What are the things that storms and needles share?  
And what do neither of them use these things to do?”

Roxanne frowned, thinking.

Storms—storms and needles.

It didn’t say what kind of storms—dust storms, thunderstorms, tornados, hurricanes…?

Beside her, the Goblin King took a sharp breath.

Roxanne looked at him, but he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking the way they’d come through the Labyrinth.

She looked that way, too, and uttered a little stifled cry.

Shadows were spilling out the doorway into the courtyard, sliding over the ground in thick tendrils, curling into the air.

“I think,” the Goblin King said, his voice strangely calm, “that you should answer quickly.”

Roxanne looked at him—his face was pale, lines of strain around his eyes and mouth. He wasn’t looking at the shadows, now; he was looking up. She glanced up, too, hoping wildly that there might be something up there to save them, but there was nothing in the sky, not even any clouds, nothing but the sun.

“—the goblins,” Roxanne said, “call them!”

“They won’t—they won’t be able to get through,” the Goblin King said, his voice tight now, and Roxanne realized that the shadows were all around them, now, that the two of them were standing in a single circle of sunlight.

She looked at the Goblin King’s face again. He winced, making a pained noise, and the sun flared brighter, hot and golden.

“—please,” he said.

The shadows writhed at the edge of the light.

Roxanne covered her mouth with her free hand and tried to force her thoughts to come together.

—storms and needles, storms and needles—

The shadows whirled like dark wind around them, around the circle of light, whirled and howled around the little circle like—

(storms and needles)

—dark wind, like—

(storms and needles, storms and)

Storms.

—the shadows whirled around the circle of light like dark wind around the eye of a storm.

(eye of a storm, eye of a—)

“Eyes!” Roxanne said, “eyes; they both have eyes! And—”

(what do neither of them use these things to do?)

“—see! Neither of them use their eyes to see!”

Nothing happened—nothing save that the little pool of light grew slightly smaller.

“Eyes!” Roxanne cried. “See!”

The shadows whirled around them.

“That’s the answer! That’s the answer, damn you!” Roxanne kicked the plinth, hard, the sole of her foot slamming into the stone just beneath the little toy keyboard.

The head still did not respond. It continued to grin it’s gape-jawed grin, its marble eyes fixed on her with mocking malevolence.

Its—

—eyes, its eyes, and—and below that the piano keyboard and—

Roxanne ripped her hand from the Goblin King’s grasp and shoved both her thumbs into the eye sockets of the statue.

The marbles moved, sliding half an inch back into the stone.

Roxanne looked down at the child’s piano, found the C key, and slammed it down hard.

The note rang out, loud, too loud for a sound produced by that little toy piano, and at the sound of it, the shadows disappeared.

They disappeared not like fog or mist, but like a living thing, pulling back into the opening in the Labyrinth.

The Goblin King gasped and stumbled, nearly falling. Roxanne caught him.

Behind them, there was a metallic groaning sound. Roxanne, supporting half of the Goblin King’s weight, turned the two of them around to see the huge iron doors swing open, revealing grass and trees—a forest?

No, an orchard—

“Come on,” Roxanne said.

The Goblin King made a quiet noise that might have been in response and might just have been an expression of pain. His eyes were shut and his skin was almost gray, now, instead of blue.

He let her put his arm over her shoulders, though, and stumbled forward with her, trying to bear some of his own weight.

And Roxanne led the Goblin King through the iron doors and into the orchard beyond them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...to be continued.
> 
> Thank you so much for continuing to read and comment! Your support means a lot to me.


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